Paying the Piper
by nightbird47
Summary: Sequel to Seduction and Shadow Dance. As the war stalls and the casualties mount, Bashir is drawn into 31, taking others with him. Sisko's loyalties are questioned as Bajor is called upon to prove its loyalty as their eventual admission to the Federation is planned. All is on hold as the war hangs on and the casualties mount. Contains intense themes.
1. Part 1 Chapter 1

Destinies, Part 3

Paying the Piper

A sequel to Seduction and Shadowdance

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Julian Bashir, Miles O'Brien, Ezri Dax, Ben Sisko, William Ross, Elim Garak, Luther Sloan, Kira Nerys, Kai Winn, Worf, Jules, Kukalaka, Quark, Vic, Odo, William Ross, Kassidy Yates, Damar, Jake Sisko, DS9 and the cannon portions of the trek universe are the property of Paramount Studios. Jaro Sarre, Garak's "customers", Dr's Rand, Halbert, and Russel, Lt. Barnes, the man in the new suit, and the planet Zas'sanna are mine.

This story uses background originating in Paula Stiles story "Isolation", which was posted on the usenet group alt-startrek-creative.

I wish to offer a special thanks to my beta readers, Paula Stiles, Matt Edwards, and Catharine Hansen, who offered many good suggestions which have made this complex story better.

Part 1 - Truth and Lies

Acknowledgments: Les Misarables, a novel by Victor Hugo

Chapter 1

Elim Garak had been released from the infirmary a day before, still suffering from bouts of sudden exhaustion. He hadn't yet opened his shop, but had taken the day to organize it in preparation for the next morning. Nobody had touched anything. Everything in the shop was familiar, but as if from a distance. No matter what actual time had elapsed, for Garak it had been a long time since he'd been here.

Poking behind a stack of fabric in his storeroom, he heard the sound. A vole had taken up residence and Garak had disturbed it. With a notable squeak, it ran away.

He froze. For a flash he wasn't there, no longer on the station. He was standing in a cave, with a gun at his head. Bashir was as good as dead already. He soon would be joining his friend. He heard the shot. Shivering, he came back to his shop and collapsed on the stack of fabric. Taking deep breaths, he forced himself to calm down. It hadn't been real. It could not have been. He was alive to remember it. But he knew that particular nightmare would never leave him. He took out one of the padds he'd been given and tried to work but was still too disturbed by the memory to do anything with it. He put it away.

Starfleet Intelligence had already been in contact with more padds on the way by special courier. The temporary CMO had refused to allow contact until his official release. They'd kept him longer than they needed to just to treat his few physical problems. But they'd noticed the nightmares, and his withdrawn state of mind. They'd tried to get him to explain. But Garak never intended to tell anyone what it had felt like when the gun had fired and death had been certain. He would have someone get rid of the voles. Standing in his shop, surrounded by the fabrics that he was so skillful at manipulating, he felt in control.

He'd only seen Bashir in glimpses, the doctor confined behind a wall of machines in the intensive care unit, and he was concerned about his fate. Still, Bashir had drawn him into that hell. Garak had his nightmares, but he kept them quiet. He thought Bashir would understand the resentment he felt over having this inner demon become so public. But he would tread carefully. He'd seen the look in Sisko's eyes.

He'd been there when Sisko had marched into the infirmary, and seen the fear in his eyes as he had lit into Bashir. The doctor hadn't said a word, still too sick to get out of bed. Garak knew Sisko had no business being there. He should have waited until Bashir was more recovered, and at least tried to look more impartial. Garak was unsure if he felt sympathy or satisfaction for the doctor. Sisko's actions were far too close to revenge, and it deeply intrigued Garak.

He decided to have a quiet lunch in his shop. He remembered when Julian Bashir, secret agent, had shot him in that ridiculous James Bond world. That was the first time Bashir had made Garak doubt his judgement. Zas'sana had been the second. He'd expected to die. He still went to sleep, if he could, wondering what reality would be there when he woke. But no one would ever know. Garak would keep the secret. He would never allow Bashir to know how badly he'd been hurt. But he would remember.

Something had happened to the doctor in the last year that had changed him, and Sisko knew what it was. Garak wanted to know, but would proceed with extreme caution. He was already aware that his friend could be a very dangerous man. He was not entirely certain that the good doctor had not already become just that.

He finished his lunch, sitting the dishes aside, and sorting a shipment of new fabric which had recently arrived. He forced himself to think about dresses, and how the fabrics would have to be cut to fall just right. He was looking forward to the simplicity of it when a noise broke his concentration and someone came in the shop.

"I'm still closed," he said to the man, dressed in Starfleet uniform with a small emblem representing the judge advocate's office.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, but we needed to review your deposition and I hadn't had a chance yet."

He said it with perfect ease, but Garak knew. The first thing he'd done was review the records of the people they'd sent. This one might be working with the office, but that wasn't who he was working for.

"Certainly," said Garak pleasantly. "I was just sorting this shipment, if you don't mind."

"Go right ahead," said the agent for someone. He and Garak traded phony smiles. The tailor let his visitor begin.

"Let me do a quick review," he said. Garak had picked up a fabric that shimmered in translucent blues and greens. It was lovely, and both men paused. "That is wonderful. If I gave you the details, could you make my wife a dress? I'd love to surprise her."

Garak smiled at him, somehow doubting he had a wife. A mistress perhaps, but he recognized the technique. It was meant to catch him off guard. There was really no need. Garak intended to cooperate fully. "Certainly, and when you have the time look at my file of styles."

"I'll do that." Garak wondered if mention of the dress had been an honest interruption, from the way the man continued to gaze at the fabric. But he was soon back to business. "You and Dr. Bashir were trying out a new holodeck program, something 'special'."

"Yes," said Garak moving fabric around without real purpose. "I was quite intrigued."

"You were concerned about the safeties, but you continued in the program." His tone was smooth and calm.

Garak shrugged. "There was little choice. By the time it got dangerous, Dr. Bashir was rather ill and it would not allow me to shut it down."

The man looked at Garak, his face full of personal concern. "Would you say your friend was in an odd sort of mood?"

Garak put down the fabric and stepped forward. "He was in a very distracted mood. I nearly called it off fearing he was ill."

It was the right answer. "His illness, it was very sudden?"

Garak confirmed it. "I believed so at the time, though in reflection he was rather disoriented before. I was unaware of how fast the symptoms could appear."

The man nodded. Garak knew what they wanted him to say now. He'd go along because he found them too dangerous to toy with, at least this openly. Bashir would be excused because he was sick. He was still confined to his quarters, and under medical orders to rest. But he had friends.

But most of all, Garak wondered if he knew how careful his new friends would be to insure that Sisko's expected revenge would fail.

o0o

Benjamin Sisko stared at the alien curves of his quarters, so different from those on Starfleet built stations. He could still remember how strange it had been at first. But now, it was home and its unique shapes a comfort. He had become a part of the mixture of cultures on his beautiful station, and it's diverse cultural mix was also his home now. And he had come to belong to the Bajoran culture, pushed closer every time Starfleet hinted at their disapproval. He didn't know which of his identities really was the strongest anymore. He was still a Starfleet officer, but his heart was here.

Especially at night when the days events were done and he could relax in his quarters, he considered those who'd emigrated from country and family to take a new start, so often repeated in the history of his home planet. Had they felt the same ambivalence, sitting in their homes with their families in the wilds of Canada, or the dusty plains of America, or the Australian outback? Perhaps those crowded into the cites of 19th century America had even shared the feeling. There would always be a tie to home, and a loyalty to the culture of birth. But it just wasn't home anymore. This place he'd come to was home now. Bajor had given him back his life. He mattered to these people, and they mattered to him.

What did they do when they had to choose, he wondered? Did the question hurt as much for those of old as it did for him? What would he do when the time came to pick which to give his loyalty?

As the war started to inch towards the end, discussion of Bajor's future had again begun. Except it wasn't working out the way Starfleet and the Federation assumed. Not everybody thought it was a good idea to join. The Federation's envoys were getting nervous. Those in opposition, fearing they'd end up abandoned, were growing stronger. He had carefully balanced between the two for such a long time. Eventually, he would have to pick one or the other.

The long, quiet night wore on, and he thought about the consequences. The ones who wanted Bashir had also managed to badly intimidate Garak, and Garak shouldn't have reacted that way. Now all the details were be being carefully rewritten. Who of his own could he trust? Would he ever be able to believe they were still loyal? And if there was someone running the show, all he hoped was it be someone who had some control over the doctor.

But as the long night drew to a close, another thought came to mind. He preferred his own life to Bashir's. He was certain that suspending the safeties hadn't been part of the plan. It had ended very publically and been very messy. Sisko was sure whoever he belonged to didn't like that.

If Sisko had done nothing, Bashir would still be punished. Except these people would not be so gentle. He had the feeling their discipline would be remembered long after he'd forgotten Benjamin Sisko.

But Ben hadn't been sleeping well, contemplating the growing uncertainty all around him. He couldn't get to sleep. But that wasn't what kept him awake that night. It was the enigma named Julian Bashir and the worry that Benjamin Sisko wasn't the only one who's loyalty had already begun to shift and the dangerous place it could take them all.

o0o

The woman from the Judge Advocates office had insisted on a meeting that evening. She'd had all the depositions at hand. She hadn't bothered to hide her feelings that it was all a waste of time and was his fault. He hadn't bothered to mention the odd questions that had been so carefully explained away. He didn't dare tell her what had driven him to forcing the situation.

When Bashir had come to them, still stunned by the kidnaping and interrogation he'd been put through, he'd made his first mistake telling Bashir to go along. What had he been thinking? How could he have forced Bashir to betray what he believed in? But all had been lost in the lists of dead and the fear that it was only the beginning of a greater darkness.

It wasn't until Bashir had come to him that night with his threat that he'd understood. By then it was too late. The genie was out of the bottle and he couldn't catch it again. Bashir was no longer under his control.

He still remembered the message that Bashir and Garak were in the infirmary, Bashir seriously ill. He'd stayed away, instead gathering information. He'd been worried about what the doctor might do. When he was well enough to talk, Bashir had admitted suspending the safeties. Sisko hadn't been able to resist the chance to assert his own authority.

Were it anyone else, a reprimand would have been enough. But, like that first mistake, he'd just reacted. He was sure no one else had seen it, but he'd never forgotten the cold look Bashir had given him that night. There had clearly been a threat implied in his tone. He still dreamed about the anger he'd seen in the cold eyes. The charges had made him feel in control. He'd forced the issue when Bashir was still rather sick, and vulnerable. He could not forget the look in the doctor's eyes when he'd laid out the charges. Bashir despised him. Worse was Garak, who had just watched, not saying a word, not even reacting to the tirade. It must have taken a lot to shake him up that badly.

Even walking out of the Infirmary, Sisko had felt a few doubts. Since then, the doubts had turned into worries. Bit by bit everything had been explained. Someone was manipulating the stories into a perfectly fitting puzzle. They were protecting Bashir. He had done nothing but drive the doctor further away.

As the long, quiet night wore on, he thought about the consequences. Whoever was behind this had badly intimidated Garak, and was handily reconstructing all the details. He wondered who of his people was with them. He hoped it was someone who had some control over the doctor.

But as the long night drew to a close, another thought came to mind. He preferred his own life to Bashir's. He was certain that suspending the safeties hadn't been part of the plan. It had ended very publically and been very messy. Sisko was sure whoever he belonged to didn't like that.

If Sisko had done nothing, Bashir would still be punished. Except these people would not be so gentle. He had the feeling that he would remember their discipline long after he'd forgotten Benjamin Sisko.

o0o

Bashir knew he wasn't in his quarters before he opened his eyes. The bed was too lumpy. The room was too cold. The noises were all wrong. It would fit several places, none desirable. Cautiously, he opened his eyes.

"I thought we would have to wake you," said Sloan, cutting through the fog of sleep. He was in a small plain room, probably a detention area. The lights were too bright.

"I'm awake," he muttered.

Sloan moved to where he could see his face. "And you were worried about Captain Sisko's little punishment," he said. "Of course, the good captain is making it personal. I can assure you that is not my motivation," he finished. Julian said nothing, worried and a little disoriented. "Do you know how lucky you are?" asked Sloan, studying him with a cold appraising look. "Do you have any idea how close you were to dying? Fortunately, the doctor I sent knew what was wrong with you. Nobody will know you didn't have that fever from Abersand Station again."

He took a deep breath, shaken despite his control. He hadn't suspected the doctor. He'd been too normal. "I'll thank him," he said with as much sarcasm as he could muster.

Sloan shook his head. "You need not worry, Doctor. The hearing will decide that you and Mr. Garak accidentally walked out of the working holosuite to the malfunctioning one and were both stunned by a random charge." Julian only looked away, very aware of his mistake. Sloan fixed an uncompromising stare on him. He squirmed under the gaze. "You received direct orders to leave the safeties in place. You decided for some reason to disobey them. I'd say you are very lucky."

He was nervous. "Garak had to believe it was real."

"Yes, he did. But he would have come to believe just as quickly with the safeties on. That was why you were ordered to leave them in place. Even if the results were not so messy, it would still be necessary for you to be disciplined. I do not tolerate disobedience."

He was still off duty, confined to his quarters, and a severe reprimand had been put in his records. Quark had been unhappy about his holosuite being torn apart, and he didn't know if he was still welcome in the bar. But none of that had any meaning when he compared it with the sort of discipline he would receive from Sloan. The icy stare scared him, knowing what the man was capable of. "I trust you won't disobey orders again," Sloan said.

"We've played a lot of games, even dangerous ones. The safeties would tell him it was a game. He wouldn't be himself." It was almost the same reason he'd given Odo and the others. At the time it had been his real motivation. He didn't want to lie to Sloan.

"Undoubtedly, but it remains that you'd been specifically ordered to use them. Before you leave here, you will understand that I mean my orders to be obeyed."

Julian felt a chill run down his spine. "I understand," he said nervously.

"That isn't enough." Sloan gave him a hard stare. "You'll believe when I'm done." Sloan smiled a little, and he motioned someone forward. The new arrival was holding a hypo. "Until later, Doctor," he said, stepping back. The man with the hypo advanced, and touched it to his neck. He relaxed, and fell unconscious instantly.

o0o

Ben had been lightly dozing when the notification came, and he woke instantly. Sitting and waiting as the official screen cleared, he was somehow not surprised that it was Ross.

"I hear you've been trying to interfere with the investigation concerning Bashir," he said, not bothering to pretend.

"I insisted on seeing Bashir. I shouldn't have then. But the doctor hadn't informed us of just how sick he was."

"It doesn't matter, Ben. The people doing the investigating know, or they'd have questioned him. If the story I heard was true, then either is currently employed as a spy or we have a sleeper in our uniform. Or it was some sort of mistake, and a faulty holosuite. That isn't your problem to decide. If you get in the way, someone might make sure you can't again."

He knew Ross, and had trusted him before, but now didn't know if he should. Or if the ones really running the charade had something on Ross and he was making sure they lost it. "All I want to know is what happened. If you think these people can find out then I'll back off. But honestly, I don't know who to trust anymore."

Ross looked uncomfortable, and his guess would be the conversation was private. "Maybe it's better not to know. And while I'm at it, we need to talk about Bajor soon."

It wasn't going to help to remind him of that. "It would be better if we could talk personally," he said.

"After this mess is done I'll do that. But you know what we need, Ben. You know you have influence. And I suspect your not using it."

He wondered how much more Ross knew about the ones running Bashir's circus than he'd let on again. Of if he'd trust the answer. "Or you think I have more influence than I have." Or, he thought, if he was willing to use it.

"Possibly we do. But get this first mess over and we'll talk." Ross was tired and had had his say and Ben was equally tired.

It was going to get over with our without him, but he doubted he'd make a difference. "I assume after the hearing ends, it will be."

"Good. Get some sleep. You look like you need some."

He said nothing as the screen went blank and given that his own loyalty was now in question, wished Bashir luck and hoped there was some left for him.

o0o

end part 1/chapter 1


	2. Part 1 Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The walls were hard and smooth, metal with sealed seams, and his clothes soaked through from the little dribble of water from one side. He was in complete darkness. It wasn't exactly like the one the Jem'Hadar had put him in. The walls felt different. He could not tell where the door was. The tiny vent that supplied air was keeping it very cold, but the walls themselves weren't as bad. But is was close enough. He was still shivering.

Worse, the rations came from a slot in the wall, when he pressed a button. He didn't know how many there were. They were the most basic Starfleet supplied, in solid form. Each had three days worth of nutrition, but it didn't fill his empty stomach. He still had to have something to drink. But that required that he lie on his side in the puddle under the spigot, and got completely soaked in the process. He had no idea how long he'd been here, having awakened in his tomb. But he knew who had put him there. He remembered that part.

It wasn't just the uncertainty of the rations that made it worse. He had no idea how long Sloan was planning to keep him there. In a little part of his mind he knew the time might be an illusion, but it didn't matter if it was a complete illusion. And there was Kukalaka. He'd never told anyone about the teasing, dancing bear that had come to him in the Jem'Hadar prison, and especially not about the hallucinations that had followed when he'd returned home. But he was sure Sloan knew. He wouldn't have picked this particular torment if he didn't.

It wouldn't take days this time, and he had no desire to provide anyone with entertainment. He was silent. He repeated basic medical text, but to himself, without using his voice. He tried singing the words to songs again, but without sound. None of it was working. He finally resorted to another ration, and another soaking as well. He moved away from the puddle as best he could, and forgot about songs while he thought of all the hot places he'd been in his life and shivered.

o0o

Bashir had slept, or passed out, he didn't know or care since he was still in the isolation cell. But he woke to a growling stomach. He was still cold, but his clothes had mostly dried. That would take time, he thought, and reached for the lever that would bring another ration. Maybe Sloan had decided to make sure this time. It didn't matter. He'd be freed when they decided.

But he hesitated. He was very hungry, but wasn't quite so cold. He wasn't sure if it would be worse to listen to his growling stomach or shiver uncontrollably. But he took the ration anyway.

He felt a little clearer after sleep, and had an idea. He put the ration in the puddle. He'd still have to drink, but it would be easier to eat it this way. Maybe he could stay a little dryer.

He'd given up trying to remember things. It was all connected with one of his nightmares now. Even pleasant things like lunch with Garak had been spoiled. He vividly remembered Sisko's visit to the infirmary, when he'd been informed that he was relieved of duty and would be confined to quarters until further notice. Privately he worried that somehow the reprimand would give those who still wanted to be rid of him a new opportunity. He wasn't sure Sloan would interfere this time. And he had the feeling Sisko hadn't been sorry at all.

They *acted* like they'd gotten over his genetic enhancement, but they hadn't. They were still suspicious. He was even more alone than when they hadn't known. He dozed, waking only when his stomach demanded food. He fished the now soggy ration stick out of the puddle. It broke into three pieces and made his hands all sticky, but it was easy to eat. He was still thirsty, though, and hunched down under the drip. The ration had made the puddle sticky as well. He got his drink, but instead of just being soaked now he was sticky and soaked. He moved away from it, leaning against the wall again. Trying to think of something other than how cold he was, he fell asleep.

o0o

The next time he woke, he heard the noises. Voices, whispers of people he knew, even recognized, but couldn't make out the words. There was Kira and Sisko, and even Quark. Garak spoke once in a while too. But it was all slurred together. He knew they were talking about him, but not to him. He could hear the disappointment in Miles voice, but it was so quiet it wasn't audible over the others most of the time. But it was company. He knew, somehow, that they were in his head, but any sound, any company, was welcome by then. Even Sloan, as long as it meant the door being opened. Almost any company, he though. No bears. Please no small brown stuffed bears.

He ate, soaking the ration again but not so long, and not minding the soaking or sticky feeling. He no longer cared. Sloan had won. He belonged to Sloan. The man could do anything he wanted and nobody would stop him. Nothing mattered anymore. He just wanted to curl up and sleep and drive all of it away.

By the next waking, some of the voices had faded. He tried the slot on the wall and nothing came out. No more food. He drank more water, and tried to ignore the cold. He leaned back in a hazy fog, no longer able to tell what was real. Even the cold and hunger had lost their edge and it all blended into a hazy mist.

He was leaning back, letting the images of hot sun comfort him, when a voice clearly cut through the fog. "Next time he invites you to join his little group, you say yes," said Sisko. He looked around wondering where the Captain was. It brought things into focus again. "First, you are relieved of duty pending a review of the incident and will be confined to quarters until further notice. Further, your permanent record will bear a reprimand for the unnecessary risk in which you placed yourself and Garak." He could hear the gloating in the voice. He forgot about Sloan for a little while and concentrated on Sisko. He wondered how Sisko would like one of these little boxes.

It was some time later, he no longer cared, that he heard the laugh. He recognized the little sing-song voice in his head. It was just giggling like a malicious child. He kept his eyes closed, not wanting to see the little bear. It was bad enough to hear him. He remembered how it had been months before he could touch his bear.

But more time passed and the giggles turned to words, childish words little Jules had gotten to know well. "I don't want to play with the dummy," someone said. He felt the tears come. That had almost been a kind word, compared to the others. Children could be cruel to anyone different from themselves. They had been very cruel to little Jules.

The other children never let him forget that he wasn't smart. It was hard for him to make sense of things around him. When he made a discovery, or suddenly came to understand a mystery, there was no one to tell. They would just laugh at him. Even before his parents had him "fixed" he had started to hid the things that mattered.

He remembered as if he was still there. "We know you're doing your best," said his mother's soothing voice. But not good enough, he thought. He'd never be good enough for them. He cried for little Jules, lost and destroyed by good intentions. He fell asleep again, this time not bothering to try to drink. He just didn't have the energy.

Eventually, he woke again, startled awake by the drum. He tried not to look, feeling the little feet as they marched up and down his leg. Kukalaka wore the same top hat and tails. The bear marched in time to his drum, occasionally pausing to giggle to some childish joke. He could see the marching toy quite clearly and it never occurred to him that it was impossible. Hungry and dehydrated, cold and wet, he just stared at the stuffed tormentor.

"You're smart now," said the bear, in a squeaky, childish voice. "But they know. See where it got you?" He banged on the drum, missing it and hitting Julian's leg, giggling uncontrollably. The little sticks bounced against him, banging his knee.

He couldn't stand it anymore and shoved the bear and his drum away, screaming loudly at him, "Go away, leave me alone, all of you." But the puddle was bigger. He slipped on the floor of the box, and hit his head on the wall, hard, as he was pushed back by his fall. Kukalaka disappeared. He started to sob and could not stop. His head pounding, he began to slip into nothingness.

He didn't know how long he'd been out, not asleep this time but unconscious. He accepted the darkness and the cold and even the empty stomach. He just wanted to curl up and disappear. But there was talking. The voices were much louder now. This time the voice was Sloan's. He didn't move as Sloan explained his second assignment. 'We want you to test the Cardassian's loyalty. It will be simple, really, and if he passes you'll both have had an adventure.'

'But Garak's my friend,' he said. 'He already thinks of himself as a traitor to his people for the code work.' He hadn't said it to Sloan, hadn't said anything, but had wanted to.

'He's a former Cardassian intelligence agent. He may be out of favor now, but that doesn't make him any more trustworthy, even if he does work with Starfleet Intelligence. We just want to know if he'd betray us.' Sloan had given that as the only explanation of his assignment.

'I don't want to,' he told Sloan. He hadn't told Sloan that either. He didn't dare.

'It doesn't matter,' said Sloan, but he *saw* the little bear. 'You'll do as your told.' Kukalaka/Sloan started to giggle. 'Dummy,' he added in a taunt. All the mumbles in his head started to giggle too.

The bear started to dance up his chest. Julian pushed him away, as hard as he could. He sat up abruptly, hitting his head on the top of the metal box. He slipped on the wet floor, and fell sideways. His head crashed to the floor, cutting himself on the spigot. He lay still, the water soaking through his clothes and the cut bleeding freely, out cold.

o0o

He came to, stretched out on a bed, covered with a blanket. He remembered waking in the infirmary after Garak's adventure, and wasn't sure where he was. But Sloan's voice abruptly clarified things. "Was that real enough, Doctor?"

The last he remembered his head had been pounding and bleeding freely and he was soaking wet. He could feel his vision getting fuzzy, and a strong feeling of confusion. He must have been badly hurt. He felt his head. There was no bump or cut. He didn't feel hungry or thirsty. He was quite warm. But he could still hear a little giggle in the background. "Quite real," he said.

"If the safeties had been off you would have been in surgery now, with severe cranial bleeding. You couldn't tell the difference. Do you believe me now?"

It had been one of Sloan's programs, based on the secret technology he'd used with Garak. Sloan had proven his point. It hadn't been real and the safeties had been in place. But a sing-song voice teased him with another giggle. He heard the tapping on the drum. It depended on where you'd been. He didn't care if that box had been solid and the days he'd been there real, the nightmares would be as bad. He had to stop himself from looking around the room for Kukalaka, the giggle was so loud and close. His head still *hurt* even if there was nothing wrong with it. But that was his business and would not be shared with anyone.

"It was real enough," he said, not looking at Sloan.

"Now, I'll have something for you to do soon. I believe the good Captain is going to release you from confinement to quarters. We'll let you know when to expect another visit by moving that bear of yours." He looked up at Sloan, certain he knew the bear's meaning. Sloan still wore the same calm expression. He was holding a hypo. "Time to go back to your own bed, Doctor."

He watched as it came near and closed his eyes before the hiss. Everything was replaced by blackness.

o0o

He was asleep when he heard the buzzing, curled up in a bed. He was too lost in his dream to be sure where he was. His head hurt too much to move. He ignored the sound, hoping it was part of a dream. He kept very still, his eyes closed, and shaded from light. Half lost in nightmarish dreams, he cowered from the sound.

He heard the whoosh as the door was opened. Someone was coming in. Hands touched him and he shuddered, jerking away. Slowly, he opened his eyes to see someone from Starfleet security standing above him in his own bedroom. Still confused, seeing them through echos of the dreams, he peered at them as if they were not real. "Come on, Doctor. The Captain wants to see you."

The dream faded, and he covered his eyes and rested his head. "I need some time," he said.

They did not budge. Waiting impatiently, one of them shook him, and he tried to control the shudder. "Don't go back to sleep. He said he wanted you now."

Aware of where he was again, Bashir reminded himself of his current situation. Sisko could order it if he wanted to. The security people would not consider an appeal.

He rose, slowly. His pounding headache got worse. Everything was blurry. He shook his head to try to clear it. "I've got a very bad headache," he mumbled, as he sat down again.

"We'll take you by the Infirmary first," said the guard, tapping his communicator. Julian suddenly remembered how his had been taken, along with the medkit he kept in his quarters. They'd turned off the replicator as well. Sisko had made his point and at that moment the Captain was the last person he wanted to see. He sat on his bed, the world hazy and moving around him. The guard continued, "He says he has a bad headache. I'm taking him to get something for it first."

"Certainly, bring him here as soon as you're done." It was Sisko's voice.

'The next time ... you say yes.' He heard Sisko's voice again as plainly as if he'd just said it. Pulling himself to his feet, he let the security people help steady him. He could feel the resentment growing inside. He had to keep it under control. Sisko would not be allowed to see it, just the coldness.

He heard the giggle in the background. There was something in the other room, marching with a drum. He closed his eyes. 'No,' he thought. 'Not that again.' He couldn't cope with both Sisko and the bear.

"May I get dressed," he asked the man.

"Sure, but hurry up."

He watched as they left, but noted the door was still open. He pulled on his uniform, fighting the headache and dizziness which went with it. He stumbled out into the other room, hesitating at the door, but the giggle and drum had gone. The security people stood waiting. He walked between them, glancing at Kukalaka. He froze for a second. The bear was smiling.

"Let's try to hurry this up," said one of the security people, as he forced himself to look away and stumbled out the door.

o0o

Bashir sat on the bio-bed while the doctor conducted his examination. He still acted and looked so absurdly normal. But now Bashir knew, and it was almost like Sloan himself was standing there.

"How long have you been having these headaches?" asked Dr. Rand, or whatever his name really was.

Bashir noted he was being closely watched. "Oh, on and off. But not nearly this bad," he half-way lied. The doctor nodded, still observing him too closely.

"This should help. Come by anytime you need another one. Nobody's trying to hurt you." Rand was watching him in a way that spoke of many small assignments, before he got one this important. Bashir just wanted to get rid of the headache. The doctor took a hypo from Jabara.

Jabara stepped back as he pressed the hypo to Bashir's neck, and the pounding began to quiet immediately. "You'll have headaches for a while," said Rand, and he'd stopped his examination. Bashir hadn't known the man was one of Sloan's people before. He suspected the man knew what had happened last night. "If it comes back, just come by and we'll give you something for it." Someday, he wondered, would he be assigned that sort of duty too?

He wished Sloan would pull him out of here soon. He didn't want to see Sisko, not today or ever again. He suspected Sisko shared the desire.

They escorted him to the conference room, and he was ushered inside by himself. Sisko wasn't alone but he'd never seen the woman sitting with him. "Doctor, this is Lieutenant Barnes, of the adjacent's office. We've been discussing your case."

He didn't sit. Nobody told him to. He tried to look attentive, but the giggling in his head was so loud it was hard to concentrate. The woman leaned forward.

"It is our decision to release you from confinement to quarters. You may move about the station freely, as long as you stay out of the docking ring and Ops. You will still be relieved of duty until this matter is settled at the upcoming hearing. Do you have any questions?" Her voice was calm and professional, and he was glad she had delivered the news.

He glanced at Sisko, carefully looking at some reports. He did not look at her. "No, none," he said, distracted.

She nodded. "Then you may go," she said in dismissal.

Just once, as he was walking out the door, he looked back at Sisko. The Captain was wearing his most neutral expression, but Bashir could tell. He was worried. He'd already figured out there was much more going on than met the eye. He saw danger when he looked at Julian Bashir.

o0o

Sisko watched as Bashir left the room, noting the arrogance. He'd always been a little arrogant. That was one of the things that fit so well with his genetic status. Sisko has always thought it was just the training and respect doctor's normally received. Perhaps all along it had been the advantage he held over the rest. Now it was more. Bashir was cold about things now. He thanked the woman with a nod, and gave Sisko a quick glance in parting.

For a passing second, Sisko noticed the look. The doctor's dark eyes focused on Sisko, and for a heartbeat the doctor dropped his guard. There was an unmistakable threat in that look, a warning that dared Sisko to try to intervene again. It was far more deadly than the first, delivered months ago when Bashir had first been compromised by them. Then, he'd chosen to make sure Sisko knew how complete the damage from his rash decision had been. Now, watching the doctor leave, he carefully ignored the way the woman was closely watching him.

As the door shut, she spoke. "I'll be very glad when this is over. He made a mistake, but I don't like the way you've made us look. A reprimand on his record would have been quite sufficient."

Sisko was grudgingly beginning to agree with her. He didn't know what had gotten into him, but at the time it had been a way to assert his authority over Bashir. The doctor would do as he was told, on the surface, but Sisko worried about the other things he'd do. He couldn't miss the cold gaze Bashir gave him when nobody noticed. "You're probably right," he said, resigned. "But it's too far along to do anything now."

"It would just call more attention to the debacle," she said, but he wasn't really listening. He remembered the shock on Bashir's face when he'd told him to go with Sloan. The doctor had gone out of his way to avoid him after that. He'd heard of late night visits to Quarks, and when he did have to deal with Bashir there was an undercurrent of resentment impossible to ignore. If he could do it over again he didn't know what he'd say. It hadn't worked. All he'd done was drive Bashir into their waiting embrace. And now he didn't know what sort of man he was dealing with, only that it was necessary to be careful.

"I looked over the depositions. I don't see it going anywhere, at least," he said wearily, wishing she had a little more sympathy.

Sisko remembered Bashir's surprise visit to his quarters after he'd come back from Abersand station, and the hard, dangerous stare he'd given Sisko. He shivered a little.

She noticed. "Are you okay?" she asked.

"Fine," he said, distracted. "Just thinking of ... things." She shrugged. The people on the station would never buy it, but she didn't know him that well. He would have to be careful. 'It better work out,' he thought. He chose not to consider what Bashir might do, even if it cleared him completely.

o0o

Outside the room, still with no job or communicator, Julian wandered aimlessly for a short while. The headache had abated, but not the disorientation. All he had to do was shut his eyes and the small dark room closed around him. His replicator had been turned off, and he'd been getting whatever Security picked for meals. He decided food of his own choice might help.

He paused before entering the replimat, scanning the customers. It was neither deserted nor crowded. He felt comfortable with that. Then he noticed a figure sitting near the back and nearly went past.

Garak was there. He didn't remember any of the end of the "adventure", but was certain something had scared the Cardassian. All he remembered were bits and pieces after leaving the rendevous to hide in the hills. If it had been as real to Garak as Sloan's personal torture chamber had been to him, he didn't want to pry. But the way Garak was acting now reminded him of the edgy mood he'd had at the Internment camp, forcing himself to go into the wall.

Perhaps Garak had felt the same back then as he did entering the replimat. But he'd been at the mercy of others for his meals for too long. And the lingering echos of Sloan's little room told him he was hungry. He waited in line behind two people and selected scones with jam and tarkalian tea. It was comfort food.

The only table was too close to Garak, but he wanted to sit and eat a meal of his choice with people. His feeling of vague discomfort vanished as he tasted the first bite. He even relaxed a little. Maybe he could carry out the charade of being two people after all.

Then he noted that Garak was watching him. He knew now that disengaging the safeties had been a mistake. Sloan had quite clearly demonstrated that with his little room. But at the time he'd had a decision to make. He'd believed Garak would not be himself if they were left in place. He'd have failed the test and Sloan would have killed him. Bashir had enough blood on his hands already.

Garak did not look any more understanding than Sisko had. The relief he'd felt at being able to move about vanished, as did the comfort of the food. He ate quickly. He ignored all of them. Suddenly, he just wanted to be alone again. He picked up the empty dish and walked without haste to the bin and deposited it inside. He passed near Garak's table, and it was hard not to rush by. But that would be too obvious. He thought Garak was going to say something and couldn't deal with that now. He moved through the now crowded replimat as if preoccupied, hoping his haste was not so noticeable.

He took the shortest route to his quarters, and collapsed in relief at the narrow escape. He never wanted to leave the room again.

o0o

Elim Garak had discovered an odd pleasure in eating again. He knew the whole experience on Zas'sana was not real, but he found that food tasted better after the meager meals they'd had. He looked forward to his food, and savored it. After opening the shop that morning, he had become fatigued, and had taken an early lunch. He chose to dine alone. He missed the lively talks he'd had with Bashir, but wasn't really in the mood for conversation.

His peaceful mood was spoiled a little when Bashir arrived. For a moment Garak though he might say something but was relieved when Bashir just walked past. Apparently preoccupied, he ate a leisurely meal without taking note of much. But in the practiced way that was second nature to Garak, he was closely watching the young doctor.

Bashir was trying to hide it, but Garak couldn't miss the nervous demeanor. Julian scanned the room for a table, carrying his food, and only with reluctance took the table near Garak. A little smile crossed the Cardassian's lips as the doctor started on his meal. Garak noticed the choice, a long noted favorite, and the tarkalian tea. Bashir had chosen that for his first lunch after the internment camp. With a vague sadness, he recalled the young idealist they had destroyed. He had changed, even then, but the Jem'Hadar had taken what was left of the innocence. His friend had never said what they'd done before Garak's arrival at the prison, but the guards were both vicious and bored, and he could guess. Bashir had not been the same since he came home.

But he'd been an even better friend. Bashir took a long sip of his tea, glancing up, and Garak suddenly realized that he too was being watched. The doctor was still learning, but Garak could not help but admire the skill he showed. There was the man from the Judge Advocates office, with his helpful suggestions-who had known the truth of Bashir's program. He wondered who had ensnared his friend and stolen him forever.

Abruptly, Bashir stiffened, and it occurred to Garak that he'd noticed that he was being observed. He was good. Once he learned to hide his body language, Bashir might even be a dangerous rival. But not yet. The doctor became distressed, hurrying his meal suddenly, as if all the pleasure had gone.

In full retreat, the doctor passed very near, and Garak nodded to him. Distracted, Bashir looked toward the tailor, momentarily dropping his guard.

Garak saw the self-loathing, colored by his guilt. He saw no traces of his friend. Watching as Bashir fled the room, he wondered who had stolen the man he knew.

o0o

End Part 1, Chapter 2


	3. Part 1 Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The first thing Bashir did was to rid himself of the uniform. He did not tear it off, restraining himself, but wadded it into a ball and deposited it in the furthest corner of the room. Searching through his wardrobe, he spilled it all over the floor, settling on a comfortable workout suit. Pushing the clothes out of the way, he collapsed into his bed.

Sleep would not come. Awake, a childish giggle teased him. It grew faint, and then suddenly was close and loud. The padded feet scurried across the floor towards him, and something poked into his arm. He whirled to push it away before he stopped himself. He would not give into figments of his imagination. 'So smart now,' giggled the bear. He shivered. 'More bad people,' it said with a sob.

He thought of the bullies that had teased little Jules without mercy. There would always be new ones. Sloan's people were just better at it than most. Little Jules had often cried himself to sleep. It was not so simple now. There were more terrors waiting when he slept. Sleep brought back the little room, all the little rooms.

He could hear Kukalaka crying, sobbing out all the misery of his own life. There was a space between himself and the bear, one he dared not cross. He could not possibly deal with the pain. He let the bear do it for him.

He glanced towards the hiding place of the hypo, sure it was still there, but knew he could not take the risk. The temptation was still enormous. It would make the bear quiet and all the pain stop long enough to sleep. He could hear the little padded feet as they moved nearer, 'Hurt,' begged the bear, in a tragic tones. 'Make it go away.'

He could see little Jules as he'd begged his parents to help with the bullies, to make them stop. In a way they had, but had just accommodated bigger ones. He wanted to make the bear, and himself, stop hurting, but knew he couldn't. It would just create more problems.

But there was someone who could help, Sloan's doctor and his cure for "headaches". Kukalaka stopped his sobbing for a moment. 'Please,' said the bear. Bashir grew more tense and stiff. "No," he whispered to the little bear, who began sobbing harder. "No, I can't let him win."

As long as Kukalaka could still cry there was a little of the man he'd been still alive.

o0o

Garak woke with a start. He remembered the dream with absolute clarity. He could smell the musty odor of the cave, and see the murky light beyond the dark hole where he and Bashir were hiding. The echoing rumbles of the patrol filled his mind, and then the animal squeaked and ran. He remembered the vole in the shop, and the memory of that moment came back very suddenly. He was relieved to be alone.

He was grabbed by someone and shoved forward, and the gun was planted in his face. He remembered what it had sounded like when it was fired. And then he'd awaken, lying still in the dark room, lost in the half-reality left by the dream.

It had all been a staged fantasy, but that did not make it any less real. He didn't even know when he'd entered the story. Bashir's injury and sickness had nearly killed him. And Garak's near death had been a very close thing.

The end had been a warning. He had lived this time. And there were worse places they could send him. He saw no reason not to cooperate with them, in their rigging of the hearing that would clear Bashir. It wasn't as much fear as respect that convinced him. There had been no trace of the program left when Quarks holosuite was dismantled. Garak hadn't expected there to be. For all its shiny image, the Federation had a dark side as ruthless as the Order at its best.

He gave up on sleeping. He picked up the book Bashir had given him a week before their last lunch, one they'd never discussed. Bashir had said it was about truth. Raising the lights, Garak decided to read for a time.

The title was printed in a fancy curved script, Les Misarables. He began reading. He didn't know how much time had passed.

Can human nature be so entirely transformed from top to

bottom? Can man created by God, be made wicked by man?

Can the soul be changed to keep pace with its destiny

and become evil when its destiny is to become evil?

Les Misarables, Victor Hugo

He kept reading for a time, pausing to sort out the images it wove in his mind. He didn't care so much for the style, but it drew him into the man's life like few of Bashir's books had. Pursued and tormented, the man had lost everything. Garak wondered if in the end he would lose himself as well.

Suddenly, he lowered the book, realizing it was a message Julian could not tell him in any other way. The doctor had become Jean Valjean, the hunted man. Carefully marking his place, Garak strolled to the replicator. "Kanard," he ordered, and the machine obediently whined. Sipping the drink, the Cardassian picked up the book without opening it.

Julian had changed drastically with the war and the Jem'Hadar, but the biggest change had come quite suddenly. It had happened around the time of the business with Sisko and the Romulans, and Garak assumed it had to do with Sisko's forcing him to release the biomemetic gel. But that was not all. Thinking back, it had started just before.

The man he *knew* would never have lured him into that trap. Someone had deliberately changed his friend to the stranger he was now, and Garak was going to find out who. It would be a challenge. Mindful of his visitor, he would have to be very quiet about it and take extreme care. He must make sure that the people the man worked for did not discover his interest.

Having made that decision, he began reading again. The tailor shop opened slightly late the next day, and Elim Garak spent most of the day reading a book. He had already decided how he would have written the end.

o0o

Miles had, as usual, been working late. Keiko had again left for Bajor with the children, and he missed them. At least she wasn't expected to be gone for long this time. He wished she had stayed, and someone else had gone to study the plant blight afflicting Shaldar providence. But he understood. She had enjoyed being a teacher, but it wasn't her passion. Just as he could spend hours putting starships together, she found deep satisfaction in the wilds of places like Bajor, surrounded by open spaces and mysteries to be solved. If it hadn't been for that, he wondered if she'd have stayed on the station so long. Even the children were learning to love that life. Yoshi was uncertain seeing his father wave good bye, but Molly was clearly excited. For her, Bajor was almost a second home, and she spoke the language quite fluently.

But it had been harder to see her go this time. There had always been a friend to fill the empty hours. When she'd been gone such a long time, before Yoshi came along, Julian had been there. They'd explored all sorts of adventures in the holosuites. They'd established the little corner of Quarks that had become theirs, with their dart board now a permanent fixture of the place. He'd had a friend to depend on when he felt all alone.

The dart board had been untouched for several weeks. The last time, before Julian had played his near-deadly game with Garak, he'd been half-hearted at best. He'd even let Miles win. Once, he'd done it out of fear, and then occasionally consideration. Now it was out of expediency, to get things over sooner. But Miles would settle for that, over the empty evenings of late.

He'd tried to see Julian, but been told he could have no visitors. He'd heard how close to dying his friend had been. He was only grateful that the doctor had lived and there might be a chance to remind him that Miles would always be his friend.

He'd almost finished his dinner when he noticed Ezri. She wandered to his table, and paused. "Care for some company?" she asked.

He was depressed enough, and didn't need her moping. But she'd been busy, counseling those who had lost themselves in the bloodshed that had taken over life. He figured she deserved some company. "Sure. I'm almost done, but I don't have anything to do." He looked around the room. "At least I hope not." He could never be too sure of that.

"I've eaten," she said. "I was thinking of desert. Maybe Quarks."

Miles finished his food. "Quarks sounds good," he said.

They moved to the bar after that, the room full of people trying to forget how life had changed in the last year. It was sufficiently distracting to keep him from leaving. He glanced at the dart board. "Any of your past hosts like darts?"

She looked up, wearing the same half-lost expression she'd had when she first wandered into the replimat. "No, but there's always a first time," she said softly.

She wasn't very good, but she tried. It didn't remind him enough of Julian to have the memories interfere. "I guess I need to practice," she said.

"It's ok," he said. "If you want."

"You miss him," she said.

He took a deep breath. "He's been different for a while. But I keep hoping. It's the war, I think."

She stared across the room. "He's not bad. I haven't had him as a patient."

Miles tried to remember when he'd been young, and had been suddenly thrown in the middle of the vicious war the Federation had fought with the Cardassians. Maybe Julian had reminded him of the young man he'd been. Now he wasn't sure who either of them were. "Yeah, but maybe he should be."

She sipped the drink she'd been ignoring. "He manages. I don't have time for him. It's the ones that can't that I have to deal with." She stared at the dart board. "I have to try to put them back together so they can go back out there." She took several big drinks.

Miles almost argued, but figured she had enough problems. But he wondered how much of the man Julian had been before his visit to the holosuite with Garak was a front. He'd kept up a good one for twenty years. He could do it again.

Ezri left, drifting out in much the same way she had come. But Miles stayed, with nothing to do and nowhere to go. He watched the crowd, milling around desperately trying to pretend. He remembered how lucky he'd been, when he'd nearly been lost so long ago. But he had friends, and in the end they had saved him.

Eventually, Julian would come out of hiding, and when he did Miles would be waiting. He would not give up on his friend.

o0o

He had made the lights as bright as they would go without hurting his eyes. Then he had locked his quarters. Briefly, it occurred to him that before he'd longed for them to be open and now it was too much of a threat. This time he'd chosen to lock the door. It made all the difference. And there were no shadows with the room bathed in light for anyone to hide.

His crumpled uniform and the other clothes were left where they had fallen, and every dish he'd used sat where he'd pushed it out of the way. He'd gone through his things, and they lay scattered where they'd landed as he tossed them out of his view. He couldn't stand his life, but he couldn't bring himself to destroy it either. Kukalaka was the only item left untouched, sitting alone now on the shelf.

The little bear sat softly crying, mellowed from the earlier sobs, but still in much distress. Bashir lay in bed, his sheets half tossed on the floor and his clothes rumpled. He needed a shave. He wasn't sleeping for more than quick naps when he couldn't resist sleep anymore. The replicator had been turned on, for food only, but he hadn't eaten much. He wasn't hungry. He just stared at the ceiling. He was very calm, and almost cold, having vented his rage earlier on the room.

It had been two days since his encounter with Garak, and his retreat back to the safety of home. But there was no home anymore. Sloan had taken it. Sisko had made sure. He never wanted to see either of them again.

He tossed the covers on the floor, going to the replicator. "Scones and redleaf tea," he ordered. It materialized instantly. He picked up the dishes one at a time off the tray, tossing them carefully on top of his uniform. The food ran off the plates and soaked into the material. The tea he poured directly over the mess, soaking it completely. He tossed the tray across the room, ignoring it as it skidded into the wall.

*A pity I can't burn it too,* he thought to himself. But he kicked it into a smaller heap, and smashed it with his foot. It felt good. He kept kicking it until he broke one of the dishes, and his shoe was all wet. He still would have preferred its total destruction, but was satisfied. It was as if, for the moment, he'd exorcized both Sisko and Sloan. Calmly pulling off the wet shoe, he ordered tarkalian tea. Clearing a chair of things, which he pushed on the floor, he sat reflecting on the soggy mess.

He sipped his tea. Kukalaka was quiet. All the emotion inside him was burned out, and there was no sorrow or rage left. He felt nothing. It would work out. The hearing would clear him, and Sloan would use him however he chose. But at least he would have something to do. Maybe he'd be able to stand it then.

Kukalaka had fallen asleep. Yawning, he felt the wariness left from the two days of restless emotion and picked up a blanket off the floor, crawling into bed and joining the bear in sleep.

o0o

The bed was wrong, too neat, and the pillow too hard. He'd warmed up his room and this was too cold. He made a guess where he was and wasn't particularly surprised when Sloan stood above him, smiling. "Feel better now?" he asked.

He looked Sloan in the eyes. "Yes. A pity I couldn't burn it too." He despised him, and didn't care if the man knew. He understood that wouldn't matter at all.

"Ah, yes. If you'd like I'll beam it in and you can finish with it. I'll even put it in a firepit for you." Sloan smiled a little.

It wouldn't mean the same if Sloan helped. "No, that's enough."

"Good, then we can get down to business." Sloan did not appear to be bothered by his behavior. But he wasn't pleased either. "You need a shower, Doctor, and I'd suggest a shave as well." Sloan sat in a nearby chair. "They aren't watching, but your absence has raised a few questions. I'd do some housekeeping if I were you. I've taken the liberty of creating a new uniform for you." He pointed to a bundle on another table.

Bashir stared at him. "I hope your not surprised. It's what happens when you steal someone's life. And you did have to bring back all the nightmares." He kept his voice very cold.

"You'll get over them. You did before. Perhaps you should go to the infirmary. Mention you're having headaches again and the doctor can help." Sloan smiled again. "It won't be long until you'll be back there yourself. But you'll need to get some sleep and not make people question your stability. Anger they will understand, but not the sort of erratic behavior I'm seeing."

"I'll think about it," said Bashir. He wanted the little room and the nightmares gone. But he didn't want to owe Sloan.

"I mean it." Sloan wasn't smiling. His eyes fixed on Bashir in a way that equaled Sisko's best look of intimidation. "I don't care if you sleep," he stated flatly, with unquestioned authority. "You will act reasonably normal, however. I don't care what you do in your room, but you aren't hiding in it anymore." There was a pause, and Sloan's voice became cold as ice. "If you don't, I may have to withdraw my personal support from your case."

Without Sloan's help, the hearing would end his career. He could end up in custody. The Institute might get its hands on him. That possibility was even more scary than Sloan. At the least, he'd be transferred. They wouldn't know him and would wonder about the genetically-engineered curiosity. It had been bad enough on the station. He didn't want to stay, but he didn't know if he could take that.

Sloan was staring at him. "I'll behave," he said.

"As I expected. You'll eat some of your meals at the replimat. Dress how you want, but you're known to be very neat and I expect you to continue to be. You don't have to be very sociable now. I think people would understand. But in a short while your 'problems' will work out. Is this understood?"

Bashir got the message. "I'll recover right on schedule," he said coldly.

Sloan smiled again. He decided he liked him better when he was giving orders. "Good, because you did very well on your last assignment. Aside from the safeties, you passed quite handily. I don't think we'll have that little problem again."

Somewhere in the corner he heard Kukalaka whimper. "No," he said. He felt a growing coldness inside him. He hadn't wanted to trap Garak into the test. He believed the Cardassian would pass, that he hated the Dominion enough to do anything that might destroy it, even if he didn't survive himself. He knew Garak would keep the secret. He understood the sort of people who had created the test.

Sloan continued. "As to Mr. Garak, he passed as well. With flying colors." Sloan abandoned the false cheer. "It would be preferable if you limited your contact for a time, however. There are too many awkward questions which could come up."

Bashir didn't expect that to be a problem. He didn't particularly want to see Garak at the moment. But he was curious about something. "We don't often have lunch any more," he said. He didn't know if Sloan would answer his next question. "Just one question, what happened to Garak at the end."

Sloan was thoughtful. "He was terminated. The weapon fired, and was aimed at his head. It never made it, but I'm sure he has much to think about."

Bashir understood now. It explained the caution he'd seen in Garak that day. He'd led him into the test. Garak would never trust him again. It explained the withdrawal and depression as well. Sloan had gotten to the untouchable Cardassian. He, himself, had never had a chance of escape.

He'd been send back awake that time, the transporter leaving him only a little dizzy. It wasn't like the ones on the station or any other standard Federation design. He wondered where they'd gotten it. If they were so determined the save the Federation why would they withhold that kind of technology?

He'd taken the warning to heart, and by morning his quarters were as clean as normal. All the scattered items were put away, the dishes and soaked clothes recycled, and the clothes folded neatly. He'd washed and shaved, and eaten a normal breakfast.

Just in case, he'd destroyed the hypo.

After eating, he'd slipped on the new uniform. It fit perfectly, but it was not comfortable. What it represented didn't fit him anymore.

Sloan believed he was saving the Federation and its way of life. There were no limits to his methods. He and Garak should understand each other quite easily. But he wasn't like them, and could not wear a Starfleet uniform and not uphold the full meaning it carried.

But he knew what Sloan would expect, and no longer saw a choice. The uniform would be a ruse. He would have to show some kind of loyalty to Section 31, or the safeties would be off in the little box. He'd have to wear the uniform on duty, but not elsewhere. He took it off, careful to keep it neat, and changed into civilian clothes.

But he thought a new outfit would be nice. And perhaps he might have a conversation with Garak while the tailor fit his new outfit.

o0o

End Part 1, Chapter 3


	4. Part 1 Chapter 4

Chapter 4

He'd come into Garak's shop that evening, just before closing. Garak was arranging a display. "I think I'd like a new outfit," he told Garak. He almost sounded cheerful, but he didn't know if the Cardassian would buy it. Garak nodded, and Bashir looked at the selection, picking several things he liked. Entering the fitting room, he tried them on. He was dressed entirely in black. He stared at the image in the mirror, thinking to himself it was somehow proper. Garak was adjusting the fit when he came to a sudden decision. Sloan could throw him in another little room again if he wanted. He knew Garak would keep the conversation quiet. He dropped the cheer, growing grim.

"It suits you," said Garak, and he thought it was sincere.

He couldn't suppress the bitterness that surrounded him. He heard a little whimper, and Kukalaka sniffled a bit. He felt the little room close around him. Sisko told him to join Sloan's little group. He remembered the wariness in the man's eyes after he'd told him it had been done. The clothes did suit him. Sisko had made sure. He said, his tone icy, "Now it does."

Garak eyed him curiously, but Julian could see the caution. He knew something had changed, or perhaps broken inside Julian, and was worried.

"You look quite attractive," said Garak, trying to change the mood.

"I didn't before," he answered, overcome by a sense of loss. He was different now. Garak saw it quite clearly, and was afraid of him in some small way.

Garak busied himself with a few minor adjustments to the fit. Bashir thought he was stalling.

Finally he stood up and looked at him, "What happened in that holosuite? Don't tell me it was an accident."

Julian watched carefully, aware of a bond that hadn't been there before. Garak knew not to ask. Julian knew not to answer. But he would tell his friend, whatever Sloan thought. "Call it a test. You're lucky, you passed." He'd already said too much. Garak picked up on the smallest of hints. "It wouldn't be a good idea to ask anymore questions. Just some friendly advise." His nerve had failed him and he couldn't dismiss the fear. Kukalaka was crying now, afraid. His tone at the last wasn't friendly. But he knew Garak would understand.

But Garak was pushing. Cautiously, he asked, "You said it wasn't supposed to go that way. Did you mean you didn't expect to hurt yourself?"

Julian thought of the way the night had ended for Garak, how close he'd come. He was endangering both of them. It had to stop. "I should not have said that. For both our sakes, please never repeat it." He let Garak see the fear and recognized the wary look the tailor wore. Garak met his gaze with unspoken understanding. Kukalaka got quiet.

"Certainly. Why did you run the program with the safeties off?" Garak's voice was steady, and very calm. Garak had taken the control. Julian thought of the small box and heard a whimper. He shouldn't say anything. But Garak had nearly died as well. He deserved an answer. "The danger had to be real. You would not have believed it otherwise." There was another sniffle. At least, he had thought so. He was sure Garak could see the fear. But it was the truth.

Garak was apparently satisfied. He looked at Julian, a little sadly. "This conversation never took place." Garak made eye contact. Julian nodded, finally looking away. Kukalaka sighed in relief.

He found a normal voice. "How much do I owe you for the clothes?" he asked.

Garak was still studying him. "Nothing. Call them a present for your last birthday." Or a farewell gift, thought Julian, for a friendship that had nowhere to go now.

He nodded, gravely, "I won't be around much. I can't take the chance. It's nothing personal."

Garak nodded, and he took his leave. He didn't run. He walked away in a confident stride. It was what they would be allowed to see. He would not let anyone ever know what lay underneath, and that way nobody would know how it was gradually fading away.

o0o

His quarters remained as neat as he always kept them, and he had eaten his dinner in the replimat. But he still kept the lights on. That way he couldn't *see* Kukalaka. But he could always hear him. The little bear waited in the back of his mind for any distress and took it away. But the noise was so constant. He didn't know if he could work properly with a bear blubbering in the background.

When he slept he still had nightmares. Sloan's little box closed around him, and became the one the Jem'Hadar had used. Things he'd forgotten about during combat, exquisite moments of horror, came back in full details. The worse moments of the Vorta's interrogation stood out in sharp relief. And there was no bear to blunt the memories. Instead, now and then the giggle and drum would come. He slept, but only with frequent waking.

There was too much time and nothing to fill it, and he dwelled too often on his future. He wanted his life back. But he knew it had been slaughtered as coldly as the man he'd killed in that Dominion cell. He'd buried the last of it when he drew Garak into that holosuite. He could not go home again.

The hearing was very near, and he waited with impatience. He had ceased to worry. As long as he cooperated with Sloan it would go smoothly. He would get back his job. It wouldn't be everything, but he believed he could live with it. And most of all, he was looking forward to watching Sisko as he lost.

o0o

Garak displayed the dress, flowing in shimmering waves over the mannikin. The customer smiled broadly. "It's wonderful," he said, carefully feeling the silky touch of the fabric. "I only wish you could see Erica wearing it."

The hearing was in a few days, and he was sure this visit was in part a reminder of the plan. But the man did like the dress. He was certain that Erica would not disappoint him. In a way Garak envied him. He was a very good tailor, and he had come to have pride in his skills. But he *missed* the challenge of his former profession. His occasional dabbles into the art only whetted the taste for more. "I wish I could as well," said Garak. "A dress like this can never be properly viewed on a lifeless frame."

"Hmmm," said his customer, "Maybe I'll see you again."

Garak nodded carefully. He was sure they were no longer discussing a dress. He was intrigued but proceeded with great caution. It was tempting to hint at interest. Their motivation aside, Garak longed for something more challenging than making dresses. At the very least, it might give him an idea who had turned Bashir into a stranger. "Perhaps ... " he said.

Looking at the dress, the man smiled. "Perhaps I will. I know people who appreciate such fine workmanship."

Garak packaged the dress, taking care not to crumple it, and the man paid him twice the normal price. He noted the careful look on his face as he stepped into the crowd.

Returning to his shop, he straightened a few items just to be busy. Decidedly uneasy, he told himself these people had changed Bashir into someone he did not recognize. They were as dangerous as Tain. He must be extremely careful.

o0o

Julian Bashir yawned uncontrollably, noting the time. It was early morning. He'd been eating breakfast in his quarters, and thought he'd try to get a little more sleep. After the hearing he'd be able to work. He'd have something to do with his time. The bear's noise was tiresome, but he could live with it. What he could not cope with was the nightmares. He had to get sleep. Sloan would not listen to any excuses if he didn't behave.

Ever since his recent conversation with Garak he'd hardly slept. It wasn't just the nightmares now. Garak had understood. He had forced Bashir to see what he was becoming. He did not particularly like what he saw.

Now the real nightmares were about his future rather than his past. The problem was sleeping at all. The hearing was only two days away. It would give him back medicine but take the last traces of himself. He would owe Sloan too much to ever escape.

He was so tired that he fell asleep. The nightmares came immediately. He woke a little while later, the little bear sobbing. He just stared at the ceiling, trying to shut it out.

There was no escape. Kukalaka could mourn for his lost life, but he couldn't have it back. There was nothing left but Sloan.

He just couldn't take the little bear's grieving anymore. It was time to end it. He dressed, still in civilian clothes, and ate a small breakfast. He held the bear for a moment, and said goodbye to himself.

o0o

For all his resignation, he still hesitated, standing just inside the infirmary door. In a few days it would be his again. Sloan's doctor would go to some other assignment. No, he corrected himself, one of them would leave. Sloan's other man would go. He would stay. He hesitated, stepping forward only a little as the doctor arrived.

"Headaches?" asked the doctor.

He took a deep breath, resigned to the inevitable. "Bad ones," he said. "Every night."

Rand nodded, motioning him inside. "Lie down," he said, indicating a biobed.

Julian hesitated. He wasn't used to being a patient. Or of late he was a little too familiar with it. He couldn't decide. He started towards the door, retreating. He stopped in his tracks when the doctor dropped all the friendly tones. His eyes were cold. "I'd suggest you let me see what's wrong. You do have your hearing coming up." The threat hung in the air. Julian realized Sloan was expecting his "headaches" to need treatment. It was a standard problem with an already planned solution.

He went to the biobed, wondering how the readings would be changed. He hadn't had any headaches since the initial one.

He lay down, as he was told. He thought he'd check the readings later, when the temporary CMO was gone. He was sure they'd match perfectly to the diagnosis. The doctor was scanning him, and he couldn't see the readings. It was most frustrating.

Rand ambled over to him. "I think I see the problem. There's an area of damage from the holodeck accident." He went on to explain there was a chemical imbalance which was overstimulating portions of his brain.

"Do what you have to," said Bashir. But he noted with great interest that their program had a few flaws.

"You'll feel better when you wake up," he said as Bashir grimly wondered if the new beginning was worth the price.

o0o

He woke to a fuzzy quiet. He was still in the infirmary, and the doctor was standing over him. "How do you feel?" he asked.

Bashir couldn't really say. "Different," he mumbled.

"You'll feel a little foggy today. The initial dosage is a little higher. But you'll feel much better tomorrow." The man was relaxed. He came closer. "Would you rather stay here or go to your quarters?"

"My quarters," said Julian, softly.

"I'll help you walk," said the doctor.

o0o

He'd gone to sleep almost immediately when he got into bed. He felt utterly peaceful. They had used some sort of drug. He was sure it would never show up on anyone's records.

Waking, he asked, "Computer, what time is it?"

It was late afternoon, and he was hungry. He didn't remember having such a good appetite in a long time. He'd slept quite peacefully as well, for the first time in years. It was not just the drug that made him feel so euphoric. It was as much the relief at having escaped his demons. He was as close to being the man who had first come to Deep Space 9 as he'd ever get.

He was sitting up, enjoying a late lunch, when the door buzzed. "I wanted to see how you were feeling," said Rand.

He continued to eat his meal as the man entered. "Fine," he said. "A little better than that but I assume that's temporary."

"True. I had to give you a higher dose before I got a response. If you're curious, it's all here." He was handed a padd.

It surprised him. "I assume this won't show up on any other records."

"Not entirely," said the doctor. "The small details may be different."

He watched the man, looking around his quarters. He saw a hint of recognition in his eyes. Perhaps they shared a beginning. He didn't want to share anymore than that.

He scanned the padd. Their program had overstimulated some areas of the brain. The drug had returned them to normal. That was all. But he didn't recognize the drug. "Did you give this to Garak too?" he ask.

"Of course." He noted the book Bashir had moved off the table, a gift from Garak. "I'm not sure how effective it was. It did draw him out of the withdrawn state."

"Garak would never tell anyone if there were more problems," he said. "What about me?"

"You were way too ill." He paused, sitting down near Bashir, "and a second exposure so soon afterward didn't help."

Bashir wondered what Sloan, or somebody, had done to this man to make him theirs. He recognized the resignation. He was an excellent doctor. It must have hurt to have to compromise and hide so much, at least at first. He wondered what he would do himself when the order came.

"I don't plan on needing a third," he said.

"Good, but if you do have anymore headaches let me know. You may need one more treatment."

Bashir nodded. "I'll let you know." There was something odd about the test results. He couldn't quite pin it down. But when he could do it himself, he wanted to see what the padd had left out. It was one more reason to look forward to the hearing.

o0o

Bashir's hearing was the next morning. Ben Sisko readied himself for bed. He was both dreading the hearing and looking forward to it at the same time. Bashir would be exonerated, and on the surface things would look normal again. The woman and her staff would leave and he could pretend for a little while.

He had sacrificed a lot of himself in the last years. The cost of being the Emissary was as great as what he had gained, and he could no longer deny the internal battle he fought between the two identities he carried. It was harder to find middle ground as time went on. There were those on Bajor who were opposed to union with the Federation, and what they saw as the loss of Bajoran values. The decisions he made would make a large difference in the outcome. Starfleet was concerned, and he was sure someone was watching.

He had lost so much already. Conspiring with Garak to bring in the Romulans had cost his self respect. For a long time, the lists of names he posted each Friday were just words, and he didn't dare see beyond that. Perhaps that was why he'd made such a mistake with Bashir. But he was convinced it was the worse choice he'd ever made.

He could have changed his mind. He could have told the doctor he'd reconsidered for such a long span of time. He could have seen the signs that Bashir was being torn apart by his order. But he had not. It was only when Bashir had issued his bitter and dangerous warning not to ask that Sisko had realized just what he'd demanded of the young man.

Sisko had not anticipated that. It had left him stunned, and then worried. Bashir was smart, and resourceful. Sisko had no idea what he might try. After he'd been found half-dead in the holosuite with Garak, leaving too many questions, Sisko had simply reacted. He saw a growing coldness in the doctor, the holosuite incident and example of what it had wrought. But lying in that bed, he saw a man who was vulnerable. He'd taken advantage of the weakness to strike back. He was scared of what the man had become, and took advantage of the weakness he saw. It had been his final mistake.

All the questions had come to have answers. The outcome was already set, almost like an old Cardassian trial. He would go through the motions and be done with it. He'd not bother Bashir again. He only hoped Bashir shared that philosophy.

o0o

On the morning of the hearing that would restore him to his position, Julian Bashir woke after a comfortable sleep. It was the second in a row. He'd had a dream, but the images had been distant, of the Jem'Hadar and the Vorta. They had been easily banished. He could still remember the details, but the were just words. Their power to torment was gone.

He had done some discreet research. The drug, if it was what it was claimed to be, was exactly as it was described in the padd. Sloan had kept his word. Kukalaka was just a stuffed bear representing childhood memories. The terror of little room was kept at a distance. But it had done much more than that. It had banished all the nightmares. He couldn't remember when he'd slept so peacefully. He still didn't trust the padd, but no longer regretted his choice.

He picked up the uniform. It was the one Sloan had given him, and he'd taken good care of it. It was somehow fitting that even it had come from Sloan. He dressed slowly, making sure he looked absolutely proper. When he was done, he studied his image in the mirror.

Oddly enough, he was reminded of his graduation from Starfleet academy. He'd stood, tall and proud, on the verge of a new life. Once or twice, he'd wondered what the people around him would say if his secret was known. He'd celebrated with the rest, sharing the moment, but a little of him not a part.

This hearing was just another transition in his life. Once it was done, he'd be back in the family. He could play darts with Miles, and eat lunch with Dax. But he wouldn't be a part of them. He owed Sloan too much now. He'd changed too much to go back.

Taking one final survey, he left his quarters, and headed for the Replimat. He'd decided to eat out this time. He watched the people hurrying through breakfast, knowing most of their names. Miles and Dax were almost done and left while he waited in line.

He picked a table by himself, most of the morning rush over. It wasn't until Garak came in that he even looked up, and realized that the Cardassian was the only one that was real. Garak knew. He was eyeing the doctor carefully, as Bashir was studying him. Garak was very nicely dressed for the occasion. He'd hardly noticed anyone else. Even Miles and Dax had been just *there*, filling space. He still valued his friendship with them, and didn't want to lose it. But what would he say? How could he allow himself to feel the friendship without seeing the lies that would have to be told?

He finished his food, and made his way to the hearing. His advocate was waiting. Bashir remembered seeing him carry a box out of Garak's, and gave him a curious look. "You look well," said the man.

"I'll be glad to get it over with," he said, feeling nothing.

"I wouldn't worry about it. I think it will all work out fine." He smiled, and the smile reminded him of Sloan's.

o0o

End, Part 1, Chapter 4


	5. Part 1 Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Julian Bashir accepted his communicator from Sisko, the hearing having returned both it and his position as Chief Medical Officer. He said, "Thank you, Sir," with perfect calm. There had been a brief moment when he'd made eye contact with Sisko. The look in his eyes had been rather different. It had been a warning. Sisko would not interfere again. He knew it had been understood. Sisko had looked at him for a second utterly stunned by what he saw. Bashir no longer noticed that his manner had become distant and occasionally rather cold. He knew about the arrogance. It had always been there, but he was using it now. It kept people away. He wasn't in the mood for small talk anymore.

The hearing had gone just as planned. The doctor of record had testified that the virus he'd been suffering from did indeed show sudden, incapacitating recurrences. Quark had been called and verified that Bashir had been absent minded and vague that night, another symptom of the onslaught of the disease. Bashir had been treated for it, and recurrences were likely to be mild at best from now on. His arm was explained as a complication of the injury and contamination, along with the fever. All the medical terminology was kept deliberately vague. One could interpret it however they wanted.

It had been concluded that, disoriented, he and Garak had wandered through the door into the malfunctioning suite and been stunned by the charge generated by the damage. Rom had testified it was possible. Even Garak had given carefully worded testimony about his worry over the lack of safeties, and his friend's odd mood. He'd verified the sudden illness. Julian had repeated, honestly repentant, that he had run it with safeties off since otherwise it was so tame. The reprimand would stand, and he lost the next promotion in rank, already in the works. His promise never to repeat it was sincere. He didn't add that he knew it wasn't necessary now.

He'd shown little reaction to the results, but he commonly hid feelings so it wasn't much of a surprise. He had taken the communicator and left immediately, in measured strides that were not quite a run. He ignored all the friends who had waited to congratulate him. He wanted nothing more than to be away from all of them.

o0o

It had started when the hearing had been called to order and he watched Sisko take his seat. He'd thought of Miles, and the distance he'd felt that morning. Garak knew, and the knowledge had poisoned their friendship. But it would be worse with Miles. He could never be himself with his friend. Miles would be able to tell. There was no chance of a normal life anymore. He couldn't pretend with his friends. It would cheapen what had been real to yet another image.

Sisko had not looked at him, but Bashir had been watching the Captain. He had created this situation. He sat there calmly in judgement of his own handiwork. Behind the controlled expression, Bashir despised the man.

One after another, the witnesses testified. Each told a carefully orchestrated story, and someone had fit them together like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. He had no doubt who that was, or someone in his employ. He would not call what he felt for Sloan respect, but the man kept his promises. Sisko had just abandoned him. He didn't care if he was sorry. It was too late for that.

The hearing had taken forever, and he couldn't wait for it to end. He added his own words to the web of lies and insinuations that was being woven. The board met for a few minutes and delivered its judgement. He was not responsible. Glancing at Garak, he wondered if the Cardassian would agree. But Sloan had won. Bashir owed him medicine now too.

If it was Sloan's victory, he thought he should dress properly for the occasion. He went to his quarters but nothing was quite right. For this night, it had to be perfect. What he needed was a good tailor.

o0o

Garak had been busy when he arrived, catching up on his tailoring duties. Julian had wandered around the shop, reveling in the quiet. He was still in uniform. It was his first order of business to do something about that. Sloan had won, and it only seemed right to celebrate for him. He picked out a new outfit, this one all in black, and rather severe. It seemed appropriate.

Garak finally came over to him, eyeing the clothes. "Perhaps I should start a special section. You may start something with this new avocation of yours."

"Let's hope not," said Bashir, almost sarcastically. "I presume that you're still open."

Garak looked at him oddly. "Certainly," he said carefully. "Would you like to try that on?"

Bashir changed in the room pointed out by Garak. He followed with the tools of one of his current trades in hand. "It does suit you, whatever the reason," said Garak, but with caution. He closed the door. Bashir suspected this was a safe place to talk. He'd tossed his uniform in a heap on the floor. Garak glanced at it. "You don't strike me as someone who's just been cleared of charges that could put you in the brig."

"Somehow, I hardly feel victorias," he said. "You gave very good answers, by the way."

Garak paused, and he guessed who had gotten to the Cardassian. He spoke cautiously. "It was the truth," he said, somewhat ironically.

Julian thought to himself that once he'd never have believed Garak would be so careful to be honest. But then he didn't know about Sloan then. He wouldn't have believed in him, either. He looked at himself in the new outfit. It did suit him well now. "As was my testimony," he added, aware both were using a rather loose definition of truth.

Garak concentrated on fitting the clothes and Julian watched. Whatever other talents his friend had, tailoring was among his best. They would never discuss the others again. Garak was nervous. He wondered what trick Sloan had played. It would be so easy to turn the officer on Zas'sanna into a Cardassian or Jem'Hadar, given the guilt Garak still carried over his code work. Perhaps Sloan was right. It would be best to keep things official for now. Garak finished with his adjustments. "I'll have this ready for you tomorrow morning."

This unaccountably annoyed him. He didn't mean to, but snapped at Garak. "I expect it tonight."

Garak didn't openly react, but became more cautious. He surveyed the outfit. "Twenty minutes, perhaps, if you're willing to wait." He sounded worried. Most people wouldn't have heard it but he knew Garak too well.

"That will do," he said pleasantly, hoping Garak would take it as an apology. He didn't feel like explaining. Garak nodded, and he guessed the Cardassian had understood.

A half-hour later, he left the room in his new black clothes, not looking back. He doubted Garak would ask any more questions. He even wondered if Sloan might make Garak an offer someday.

o0o

The replimat was full of people he knew. Sisko wasn't there, but Miles was sitting with Kira and Dax. He ignored them. He found a small corner table to eat his food. But Miles wouldn't leave well enough alone.

He noticed Miles approach, and ignored it, hoping he'd get the point. But the Chief could be stubborn. "We're glad things worked out," said Miles.

"It was fortunate," said Bashir, his tone icy.

Miles was hurt, he could tell, and he wanted to explain. He could not deal with his friends. He could not lie to them about what Sloan had done. He could only push them away. But Miles kept trying. "Um, maybe you'd like to try darts later?"

Part of him wanted to, just to hold on to all that was fading away so it might last. Sloan would even approve. He was supposed to act "normal". But there was no such thing anymore. He felt as if he'd been splintered into a series of images and he didn't know which one was real. He wouldn't lie to Miles. Kira was too perceptive to deceive. He didn't know about Dax anymore. Perhaps Ezri would understand. He had to get rid of Miles. It hurt too much. "I'm sorry," he said, cold and mean. "I seem to have lost interest in darts."

He could feel the hurt. He drew his armor around him to shut it out. Miles was still standing there, looking stunned. "If that's how you feel ... " he said, backing off.

Julian briefly hated himself before he shut out all feeling. "I'm afraid I do," he said, colder than before.

"Well, then ... " Miles muttered to himself as he retreated. Bashir went back to calmly eating his dinner. He noticed Miles sat down with the others , all of them looking at him, before they left together.

He felt a little more of himself fade as they walked away and left him alone.

o0o

Bashir had been given several days of leave, while the paperwork was finalized and recorded. The night before, he'd not slept as well. He had heard a little giggle out of Kukalaka that morning.

The drug sometimes required repeated treatments, and before he left, he made a visit to the Infirmary and Dr. Rand. He had one more day off. This time there was no hesitation. Rand was finishing some reports.

Julian didn't waste any time. "I've had a few more headaches," he said.

The doctor watched him closely. Julian didn't have to elaborate. His manner was just open enough to show the worry. "I guess you could have one more treatment. You shouldn't need any more, though."

This time it had been simpler, and Rand had walked him back to his quarters later. He'd gone to bed. He woke up in a few hours, and took a blood sample. Rand had no reason to lie, but he didn't trust anyone now. He kept to himself that last day. The blood test was carefully hidden. He hoped it would be defined enough in a simple screening. Tomorrow 31's new doctor would have taken over and could run his own test. But he was sure Sloan would still be watching.

end, ch5, pt. 1, Paying the Piper


	6. Part 2 Chapter 6

Destinies, Part 3

Paying the Piper

A sequal to Seduction and Shadowdance

Part 2 - Whispers in the Dark

songs: "That's Life"

"My Way"

"Both Sides Now"

All songs are the property of copyright holders.

Chapter 6

In fifteen minutes he would report to duty and officially resume his position as the Chief Medical Officer of Deep Space Nine. He had gotten up a little early and eaten alone in his quarters. He had taken special care to look his best, and had finally dressed in his uniform. Looking at the reflection in the mirror, he saw a stranger.

It looked like him. The uniform fit well, better than the one he'd destroyed. It was a perfect symbol now, this uniform given to him by Sloan. It made the cycle complete. Nothing of his old life was left untouched anymore. Rand had gone and he had simply taken his place.

He hated Sloan for stealing his life. But at the same time he felt nothing. Sloan hadn't been angry when he'd been put in the virtual box. He'd just been cold, and just as coldly had pushed him into accepting the help that had finally given his life a little peace after all the nightmares. Bashir knew it all fit into Sloan's plan. But it was hard to feel anger for someone who had none.

He had even started to forget about Sisko. He still despised the Captain, but Sisko couldn't hurt him anymore. Nor did he expect him to try. Taking back the official trappings of his position at the hearing, he'd seen a look of surrender. Sisko would leave him alone from now on.

He had no target for his anger anymore. It no longer had a place in his life. Like he had before, when he'd discovered what his parents had done to him at six, he started to bury it deep inside. He felt nothing. Medicine had meant everything to him, but now it was just another assignment. There was nothing left to believe in. He checked his uniform once more, making sure the blood test he'd hidden didn't show. As he left the room, he wondered what lies it would reveal.

o0o

Despite everything, he paused outside the Infirmary. It was what had brought him there, and filled his life for so long. Medicine had been his passion, embraced at a risk only he knew. He'd kept it at the cost of his father's freedom. For a fleeting moment he wished that arraignment had not been, that it had all been taken away. Perhaps Sloan would have no use for him then, at least not in the same way. He would not have to face this moment, knowing that Sloan had saved it for him. Even tainted, he wanted it. But he knew everything came with a price.

Slowly, he walked inside, trying to ignore the turmoil within him. This time he had paid the price, and there would be no end to his sentence. He had cooperated, and in his acceptance had given up his last chance to break away. The only escape from Sloan was death, and he wasn't ready for that. He gazed toward Intensive Care. He'd already known when he'd first awakened. Sisko's entire play had only reinforced it.

He heard someone say, "He's here." Suddenly uncertain, he stepped past the door. Several of his staff came out of one of the labs, led by Jabara. He hadn't anticipated a reception, and didn't know what to expect. But Jabara was waiting with a smile. "Welcome back, Doctor," she said. "We missed you."

He believed her. She'd been there from the start. There was warmth in her voice. These people had been there when he'd been brought in from the holosuite, and watched as he nearly didn't make it. He mattered to them, not for what uses he had but for himself. It had been a long time since he'd felt so cherished.

The numbness inside him began to fade. He didn't know what to make of it. The rest of his staff came forward to shake his hand. "We knew we'd get you back," said one of the Starfleet nurses. He thought of the long nights when they'd been swamped by casualties from an arriving ship. Sloan had said much the same, but she believed in the doctor he thought he'd lost.

He hadn't expected this. It took him completely by surprise and completely ambushed him. He had no idea what to say. "I'm simply honored," he finally said.

The first patients arrived, a couple of small children and their mother, all with some sort of Bajoran virus. The nurses could have treated it, but he suddenly needed to do it himself. Sloan had saved medicine for him, but not taken it. Nothing could ever take the joy he felt at being a doctor.

An accident and several fights kept him busy the rest of the morning. He didn't want to leave for lunch, and ate in his office. When everyone was gone he ran the blood test quietly, not reading the results, not wanting them to stain this perfection. The afternoon was filled with the normal variety of ailments he remembered from before. It was almost as if he'd never heard of Sloan. He didn't want it to end.

They said you couldn't go home again. He knew this wouldn't last forever, but for now he had proven the old adage wrong. For a time, at least, he'd rediscovered himself.

o0o

Sisko smiled at his two guests, sensing Kira's relief as she saw the last of them. He picked a chair at the large table filling the ward room, and watched as they chose their own, maintaining a careful distance from each other. "Colonel Kira didn't say what this was about," he said, "but I was assured it was important."

"Most certainly," said one of his guests, short with unruly hair. Both were middle-aged Bajoran's wearing non-descrip bureaucratic dress, but there the difference ended. The short one had greeted him with a clipped address of "Captain," and would have fit perfectly well in any office in the Federation. The taller one, his hair and eyes dark, with an intense look, had addressed him with a respectful sounding "Emissary".

He could guess what the meeting was about. Bajor would enter the Federation when the war was over. Or that had been the plan. Doubts were beginning to surface. Politicians were starting to hedge. Everyone remembered that he had personally been responsible for ending things the last time.

The dark haired man opened the discussion. "Sir, we seek out your feelings on this issue. We are attempting to find some sort of middle ground. I and Mr. Barlan represent differing points of view, but neither of us is considered extreme."

Starfleet wasn't going to like this. How did one find middle ground? Either Bajor was admitted or it wasn't. There was no half-way. "Perhaps you could explain," he said diplomatically.

The dark haired man continued. "There are some concerns that bringing Bajor into the Federation will compromise our cultural identity. There is also concern that as a member of the Federation we will be left open to attack by those who are not personally our enemies."

Sisko remembered how he'd put it himself, 'Bajor must stand alone'. But that had been with the Dominion. When the war ended that would be over. But he found he had come to understand the Bajoran mind. No interpretation was ever final. He had been given a vision by the Prophets, and it had become as fully a part of their lore as that from the ancients.

"I can understand your concern, but the Federation has united many cultures without taking away their identities." He tried to be diplomatic.

The dark haired man hesitated, "Perhaps, but these have not been under occupation for several generations. These cultures have not only recently begun to rebuild their cultures. There are those who fear the Federation influence will alter our own destiny."

Sisko had no real answer. There was something fundamentally incompatible about the two, a difference he was keenly aware of. But others had found a way to make it work. "I care about Bajor," he said. "There will be a transition of sorts, but with more security Bajoran culture will have the chance to regain some of what was lost, and perhaps the scars of the occupation can heal."

The dark haired man looked un-convinced. But the short man, Mr. Barlan, spoke first. "Precisely, but it isn't culture that concerns some of us. It's that security you speak of. It might have been true before the war, or for those deep within the Federation. But now Starfleet is far from what it was, and we are very near the enemy. And border areas have always been unstable. I don't want my home to become a convenient target for someone intent on attacking the first part of the Federation they can find."

The calm logic bothered Sisko more than the cultural fears of the other man. But there was the wormhole. Even if the Prophets never allowed it to open for traffic again, it would be a strategic location Starfleet would give priority over others. "I believe Starfleet would give this area full protection," he said.

Barlan said very quietly, "As it did Betazed?"

The dark haired man spoke firmly. "Do you say these things as Captain Sisko, or as Emissary?"

Sisko wished the interview would end. He would have preferred it never to have been at all. "As myself," he said simply.

"You, our Emissary warned that Bajor must stand alone. The Dominion would have destroyed us had you not made the warning. Are you saying the danger is past?" Barlan's question was equally quiet.

Sisko could not answer. He couldn't give them some formula Starfleet would have preferred. He owed them more than that. "I will not allow Bajor to come to harm," he said. "But I can't give you any answers now."

"The Prophets are patient," said the dark haired man. "We await your answers."

Sisko bid his guests farewell, but wished the lingering questions and doubts could be sent away so easily.

o0o

Garak was working on a padd when the message arrived. He found it hard to concentrate on the code. His mind kept drifting back to the hearing. Tain himself could not have planned the day as well. Bashir had spend most of his time alone since then, out of uniform. Garak had given him room. He was still watching but didn't want to push.

He noted a message had been received. He stowed the padd out of curiosity. He noted with mild alarm that his elusive visitor had contacted him.

"Ah, Mr. Garak, Erica loved the dress. I do hope you have more of the material."

Garak smiled at him, "As a matter of fact I do."

"Oh, good. Could you possibly make another dress, something similar for my sister. I'll send the particulars."

"Certainly," he said, still smiling. "There is enough fabric."

"Good. She liked it so much I want her's to be a surprise." He nodded thoughtfully. "I'll be in the area in a week. Could you have it ready then?"

Garak remembered that Bashir had said he passed. So had Bashir. "I can, if you give me all the details," he said smoothly.

"I look forward to it, and certainly appreciate your talents." The man was smiling, and his tone pleasant. But somehow Garak remembered the alarm he'd felt when Bashir had made arrangements to look over his new holodeck program.

o0o

Bashir was in no hurry at the end of his shift. He stood in the corridor outside the Infirmary, at a loss about what to do. He wasn't hungry. He wanted to keep the contentment of the day as long as he could. Wandering toward the Promenade, he paused, finding it too distracting. In the end, he turned around and went directly to his quarters.

It had taken him completely by surprise. He had stepped back into the role of doctor without a second thought. But it was more than a role. It was the core of his identity. He had felt alive that day, so unlike the others spent stumbling through the wreckage Sloan and Sisko had left him.

Perhaps he could get back a little of his life after all. He had believed it hopeless, but now he had to try. The first thing he wanted was a game of darts.

He considered the uniform. It didn't feel honest to wear it now that he wasn't on duty. But he dressed in casual clothes, not the black pseudo-uniform he'd put together. That felt as wrong as the other uniform. The real Bashir existed somewhere in-between them.

He left, more relaxed than he'd been since the holodeck illness. The replimat was crowded, several small groups of Bajorans drawn together in heated discussion. He wasn't really interested, but caught references to the Federation and even Sisko's declaration of Bajor standing alone. He shuddered a little. The changeling had been here then. He heard the thud as the door had closed, felt the Jem'Hadar shove him inside when he'd balked, and remembered the sudden silence of the Vorta's little room. The drug kept the terror at bay. He thought of the blood test, still waiting to be read. He moved away from the Bajoran's discussion.

He found a place to eat in relative quiet. He'd just gotten started when Miles entered. After getting his dinner, Miles also sat by himself. Bashir had nearly finished his food before Miles looked his way. He tried to be nonchalant, but this was too important. He ate the last few bites and stood, noting that Miles hadn't noticed. Miles was sitting along the way to the disposal area. He paused by his old friend, deeply aware of how much this mattered.

Miles looked up as Julian approached. "I understand Keiko will be back in a few days, but in the meanwhile would you like a little company?" he asked, lightly.

Miles stiffened, finally looking up at him. He was grim, still hurt. "Maybe, but not yours."

Julian told himself it was only fair. He'd been just as direct. But Miles had been a friend, and he desperately needed that friendship back. Steeling himself, he said simply, "I should not have said that. I didn't mean it."

Miles drummed his fingers on the table. "You shouldn't have said it then. I'm sorry, Julian, but there is a limit. You can't ignore your friends and insult them and think it doesn't matter. Maybe later, when it doesn't hurt so much."

Julian felt awkward standing there, but didn't want to give up just yet. But looking at Miles he could see how deep the hurt went. He had to get through it someway. Miles was the most loyal friend he had. "Perhaps darts, when you're ready." Even he could hear the hesitation in his voice.

Miles stared at the table, and mumbled, "Maybe I've lost interest in that too." Miles wasn't good at hiding things. He couldn't look at Julian when he said it. But he understood, just the same. Sometimes sorry isn't enough. It wasn't this time.

Julian stepped back a little, giving him some space. "If you change your mind, I like darts."

Miles was mumbling to himself, "Good for you," as he retreated.

o0o

"Computer, lock the door," he said. He collapsed on the couch. He didn't remember walking back to his quarters, or the daze that still surrounded him. But he knew it was over. He might share something with his nurses born of long nights and shared battles, but eventually even that would fade. Miles was patient, and exceptionally loyal. Given half a chance he'd still be a friend. But he'd not given that. He'd been cold and unfeeling. He'd met Miles overtures with arrogance.

He found he really couldn't blame the man for paying him back. He wondered which was the harder to take, his own cold rejection or Miles deeply troubled one. But both had mattered. Eventually, Miles might forgive, but never forget. There would always be the taint of distrust poisoning what grew between them.

The day before he had known that his old life was dead. But it had only been a surface knowledge. It had been a cruel day, giving him a taste of hope and then dashing it forever. The difference was that he could feel it now, a grief he could not describe. It was as if someone cherished had died. He did not yet want to believe it was himself.

o0o

Garak had been working late, several more padds having arrived that day. One had been urgent, and he had a dress the customer needed done by morning. The special courier had come and gone, and he had more time for the others. It had almost been a relief to work on the dress that evening. He still wondered how many Cardassians he was condemning with each padd he decoded.

Briefly, he noticed the shimmering material he'd set aside for the special order. He'd decided to hold the rest, just in case. He had no desire to join these people. He understood them too well. He believed he could slip out of their grasp, unlike his friend. But it would be a very delicate situation, and he wasn't at all certain it would work.

Before that evening he had been more willing. He had come to like tailoring, but missed the fascination his old life had held. The allure was still there, but he had been reminded of all the other things that came with it that evening.

He'd decided to take a break and a late dinner just in time to see O'Brien stumble out of the replimat, obviously upset, and Bashir follow in a daze. Julian had been very cold to his old friend of late, and now he must be sorry. But he'd already broken the trust this time. When O'Brien was ready, Bashir would already be fully their property.

Garak understood. He'd lived under Tain's domination and there had not been room for friends. Only in his exile had the doctor become his first real friend. Garak had only belatedly realized how it had made life more tolerable. He could not help being the man his father had created, but had come to understand what he'd missed. He could no more go back than Bashir could.

o0o

He'd turned down the lights, and had some tea. It hadn't helped. All he could feel was a half-numb sort of sorrow, and he slumped down on the couch, still dressed, hoping he might be able to sleep. Since banishing the nightmares, sleep was once more a refuge. But that night, emotionally exhausted, he found no comfort in the nap he'd taken. It was just the same when he woke up.

"Computer, lights at normal brightness."

The room lit up again, he stood surveying it for something to do. Garak's book was sitting near him, but he could not bear to hold it. He had no desire for food, and preferred quiet over any sort of distraction.

He noticed the results of the blood test. He didn't really want to read it then, but putting it off wasn't going to change things either.

He picked it up, hesitantly touching the padd. He hadn't believed things could get any worse, that he could lose more than he already had. He simply stared at the devastating words, so precise and clinical. For a moment he was both doctor and patient, mixing the regret of a bad diagnosis with the shock of the recipient. Then he just froze as the reality hit him.

He collapsed back onto his couch. The drug was just as he'd been told-and researched on his own. It was the other parts of the results that were so devastating.

The list was unmistakable, a high white cell count, and the presence of an unknown element. Whatever it was, he was a carrier.

He forced back the initial panic, trying to find a middle ground. He hadn't done a complete analysis, and would try again. But he was almost sure it was something that had nearly killed him twice already, something he'd been given to turn him into a killer.

The first time had been in that little cell where he'd poisoned the double agent. He'd probably been infected as well in case the device didn't work. The second time had been Zas'sanna, where the program had brought it back. Gazing at the padd, he wondered if he'd survive the next.

The mystery was why he was so healthy. He should have had some effect from the battle raging inside him, but had none. And it should have been contagious, but it was not. It was a mystery he had to solve. He took another blood test and put the padd away. There was a reason to go to work tomorrow now, not one of choice, but he knew his only chance at escape was to find their secret and give them no reason to suspect he knew until had a way out.

o0o

End, Part 2, Chapter 6


	7. Part 2 Chapter 7

Chapter 7

After Sloan had come the first time, and Sisko had issued his order condemning him to this, he'd seldom been able to sleep. There had been one place that was a refuge, one being who would not ask the wrong questions and would sing songs if that helped. Now, with all of it gone, he needed that refuge. Quark was closed, but closing time could be altered by enough latinum. Restless, he decided to try. He hadn't been near Quark's since the holosuite disaster, but his deep need for peace outweighed caution tonight.

He was still dressed as he'd been earlier. Preoccupied with his own thoughts, he arrived at Quarks with a few hanger's on still sitting around. The Promenade was deserted. Quark noticed him coming and stood by the door, which he closed. All Julian could think about was Vic's lounge. He stopped in front of the door.

"We're closed," said Quark.

Julian waved towards the remaining customers. "What about them?"

Quark was adamant. "They were already here."

He needed to relax and Vic's was the only place he could escape. And Quark had the only holosuits on the station. He held up the latinum. "I'd like Vic's."

Quark visibly stiffened. "It's occupied."

"But you aren't open," said Julian, annoyance becoming desperation.

"They were already here," Quark repeated.

The desperation was becoming something darker. "I suppose they'll still be busy tomorrow," said Julian very coldly.

Quark met his gaze. "We're booked for a long time."

Julian said nothing, just looked at the Ferengi with all the bitterness he felt about his life. Quark, much more resolute than he expected, replied in a look full of disgust. For a second they made eye contact.

He could see he had intimidated Quark, but it was late. The infirmary could be busy tomorrow and if he pushed his way in tonight Quark might call security. Sloan would call him on that. He stiffened, pulling on the shield of arrogance he had learned to trust. It still hurt inside. But he knew that Quark would give in if there were a lot of customers. Tomorrow evening would be soon enough.

He checked the time, still unable to sleep. He'd changed for bed, still miserable but willing to wait. He wondered if Sloan was watching, but didn't particularly care. He'd replaced the medkit he kept in his room, and made sure a vial of the sedative was included. The hypo had been hidden again too. He didn't care if Sloan knew anymore. He already knew who had won.

Taking the hypo from its hiding place, he held it for a few moments, almost hoping he got caught. He'd be their failure then and it would be over. But, reducing the dosage so he could wake up in time, he placed it against his neck. He stowed it in its place again, already drowsy, and welcomed the refuge of nothingness he found.

o0o

Sisko read the padd for the fourth time, wishing it would change. He'd wondered why the delegation from Bajor had come with so little notice, and remembered the feeling of importance that meeting had. They had left that evening, leaving behind a trail of rumors. But reality had surpassed the station's population's ability to magnify crumbs into disasters.

A delegation of Bajorans had formally petitioned reconsideration of Federation membership pending satisfactory answers to several questions, the same he had been asked the day before. One Mr. Barlan was among the organizers of the movement.

It might have been dismissed as part of normal Bajoran politics, with the fringes always ready to act, except these people were different. The were villagers and clerks and artisans. They included all religious variations and several significant points of view. They could not easily be denied.

Starfleet had already taken up an hour of his time, asking questions he couldn't answer. He put them off by explaining he hadn't had the chance to talk to anyone yet. He decided to keep his visit of the day before quiet.

The real problem was that he wasn't sure what to say. In many ways they were right. If it was a choice of Vulcan or Earth and Bajor, he knew what the decision would be. There would be an implied "if" to any promises. He was less sure about the other concern, but didn't dare show it to Starfleet. They were nervous enough about his dual identity as it was.

He'd called a meeting that afternoon for all departments. He'd had Kira come in for a private discussion. She knew of his personal doubts. She had agreed to keep the Bajoran's from getting too close for the present. He had to walk a very delicate tightrope for now.

But he knew the time was coming when he had to pick one side or the other. He looked at the baseball, remembering the first time he'd put it there. Who would have guessed, back then, that he would have forged such deep ties with this place that Earth had ceased to be home.

o0o

Bashir had arrived at the meeting rather late, his Infirmary full of patients. An accident had brought a ship full of injuries, none serious, but it had kept him busy. He had had a number of raktagenos. After the fast paced morning, he was having trouble staying awake.

Everybody had heard of the petition, and between patients it had been the chief topic of conversation. Sisko was concerned about security, and insisted that everyone be on their best behavior. He expected Sisko's gaze to linger on him, but it hadn't. Sisko barely noticed him. Once more he had been forgotten.

Finally the meeting ended, and he helped with the last patients. Nobody had noticed the difference in him. He had buried all the feelings. There was no elation today. But it was still a refuge. After the meeting he returned as much to finish his work as to settle his nerves. At the end of the day, the lab deserted, he ran the second blood test. Taking the results as soon as it was done, he retreated to his quarters.

He laid the padd on a table, studying it grimly. There was a missing element, and he suspected what it was. He wasn't ready to find out yet.

He immediately shed the uniform. He hung it carefully this time, ready for tomorrow. It had become a symbol of his refuge, and it would be treated with respect. He studied his wardrobe, his plan already set. Quark would be busy tonight. He wouldn't risk a scene. He'd could have insisted the night before, but this was better.

He picked out his most severe outfit, black and stark. Quark couldn't miss the message. He was going to take back what he could of his life, whatever it took to do it.

He looked at the blood test, still curious, but wasn't ready yet. He stored it with his personal things. Certain matters needed to be settled before he confirmed his fears.

He set out for an early dinner, followed by his confrontation with Quark. The replimat was crowded, but he waited in line patiently. Garak came in after he'd sat down, and watched him as he ignored both the Cardassian and the buzz of conversation. It involved the future of this station and the people who had been used to build it, but except for the infirmary it was distant. He no longer belonged. None of it mattered anymore.

He took his time, going back for desert. Quarks needed to be crowded, but as he passed it wasn't full enough. He kept thinking of the blood test. He had to know, and went to his quarters, and straight to the padd.

If someone had been watching, they would never have guessed, for he showed nothing. There were faint traces of another drug. He had no idea what it did, but he suspected it was the reason he was alive. For a time he stared at the padd. Then he replaced it, leaving with no visible signs of the turmoil inside him.

He knew he wasn't welcome in Quarks. But he brought enough latinum to change the Ferengi's mind if nothing else did. Quark had lost a lot of profit with the holosuits torn up. Perhaps Quark would not want the money, but he'd take it. He needed it too badly to turn away such a well paying customer.

He wanted Vic. He needed a little peace in his life, and Vic could give it to him. Without Quark's cooperation he wouldn't get it. This time Quark wouldn't dare publically object, not with a large crowd to watch.

Dressed as he was, people noticed, and looking at his expression got out of his way. Ignoring the crowd, he went straight to the bar.

Quark eyed him with caution, but said nothing. "I'd like a drink," he told the Ferengi. "Your pick." He dropped enough latinum on the bar to attract his attention.

Quark nodded. He produced an odd shaped bottle. "This is new. But it will help." He poured a glass full and slid it in front of the doctor.

"I also want Vic's. And I want it alone." He dropped more latinum on the bar. Quark quietly picked it up. He was still reluctant, but the latinum had done its work.

"He's booked tonight, but I'll see what I can do." Quark filled the glass again where he'd sipped. He made no comment, but noticed as Quark motioned to Rom, and pointed at a couple sitting in the corner.

"I'll wait," said Julian, sipping his drink, attracting the attention of everyone and ignoring all of them.

Rom had hurried over to the couple. They took something from him and shrugged, glancing at Bashir. Rom nodded at his brother. Bashir was still sipping the drink, waiting. Quark said non-committal, "We had a cancellation. You can have one for two hours." He handed him the bottle. Taking it and his glass, Bashir stood. He thought Quark looked extremely relieved to see him go.

Vic was practicing with the band when he arrived. He looked up at Bashir and smiled. "I like the clothes," he said.

Julian grumbled at him, "I don't, but nobody asked me."

Vic looked concerned. "I haven't seen you here for a while."

Julian sighed, taking a table. "Problems. Could you just sing a few songs for now."

Vic lost his smile for a moment. "Do you want an audience?"

Julian shook his head. "No. Just me." He sipped his drink. "Got to get used to it."

Vic hadn't gone near the stage. Instead he sat down with the doctor. "What's wrong?" he asked. "That's hefty stuff."

Bashir stared at the glass. "Maybe I'll be able to sleep."

Vic asked lightly, "Any requests?"

"No, just sing. Anything."

The holographic singer went to the stage and the band started playing, "That's life, that's what all the people say. You're riding high in April, shot down in May ... "

Julian sipped his drink, listening to the song. Vic was trying to help. He enjoyed the music but the words didn't fit. He wouldn't be "back on top" in June or any other month on either the Earth or Bajoran calendar. Vic sang five other songs, lighter in tone, but they didn't help either. He told the band to take a break and visited his lone customer again. "Thanks, I enjoyed it," said Bashir.

"Not that I could tell," said the lounge singer.

"I've been sick since the last time I saw you," he said, "and there was some trouble."

"It was mentioned," Vic offered. "I wondered if you'd come back."

"What is there to come back to?" he asked softly. He'd gone through several glasses.

Vic picked up the bottle and replaced the seal. "That can get you depressed. Save some for later."

Julian looked at Vic, and said sincerely, "I have a secret life."

"We all do," said the hologram.

"This one's real. It stole my life."

Vic got serious. "Nobody can steal your life. You have to let them."

"It's not that simple," said Bashir, his glass empty as he reached for a sip.

"No, it's very simple." Vic moved the bottle out of reach. "My life, such as it is, can be turned off, but in here I decide what I do."

"You're lucky," said Julian, gazing at the band.

"I heard about the hearing," said Vic. "It's over. You won."

"Not alone," said Bashir bitterly. "It was all rigged to come out that way. I didn't ask how."

Vic started to look concerned. "How'd he buy you?"

Bashir was surprised. "He tricked me into killing someone."

"Blood guilt, that's a classic," said Vic thoughtfully. "What else?"

"Garak ... that program I ran was theirs."

Vic looked thoughtful. "I wondered what it was. Nothing normal."

"So you were watching," he said.

"No, not much to watch after you got in that dumpster tube." Vic looked thoughtfully at him. "These guys are like the Mob. They have to own you. Right?"

"That's pretty close," he mumbled.

"Do they?" ask Vic.

Bashir realized that Vic would keep this private but he might not be the only one listening. But it felt good to talk about it anyway. "It feels like it. I carry a disease they gave me."

Vic looked sympathetic. "The one you were sick from?"

"I believe so," he said, taking a breath. "I leave, I die."

"Is it worth it?" ask the lounge singer.

"I don't want to die." Bashir reached towards the bottle which Vic pulled away. "I don't want this life either."

"You're not the first," he said. "Until you decide what you want, don't fight them. Don't be enthusiastic either. Find yourself."

"How?" asked Julian, more depressed than when he'd come.

"Come and listen to the music," said Vic. "And not alone. Quark likes to open up the place to a real live audience. He makes a lot more off of the place that way. We have a deal. He reserves it now and then for someone special. You aren't the Bajoran couple that was getting married."

Bashir shrugged. "They canceled."

"No doubt," said Vic. "Look, do your job, come and see me and I'll do some requests. See what you want." He looked at the stage. "I think the band is ready. Any requests?"

"Surprise me," he said.

Vic consulted with the band and the lighting dimmed. The music was quiet. "And now, the end is near, and now I face my final curtain. My friend, I state this clear, I state the case of which I'm certain. I've lived a life that's full. I've traveled each and every highway. But no, much more than this, I did it my way ... " Bashir listened, letting go of everything but the song. But it finished. "For what has a man, what has he got, if not himself, then he had not." Bashir looked up, as Vic was looking directly at him. "The record shows, I took the blows, and did it my way."

He noted the time. He had to go. Vic met him at the door. "Thank you," he told the singer, "I'll be back."

"You're always welcome," said Vic.

That meant more than all the songs in the world.

o0o

End, Part 2, Chapter 7


	8. Part 2 Chapter 8

Chapter 8

For the moment, Benjamin Sisko almost wished he'd never come to Bajor. To be the bitter man he had been struck him as far easier than to face the dilemma he did now. Nothing official had been done with the petition. The Bajoran government was discussing it. Sisko had talked to more officials in the Federation than he could remember by name. But nobody knew how it was going to work out.

If he'd been able to take a side it would have been easier. Even if it was unofficial, he could have managed better. But he understood the Bajoran's concern. And he knew the Federation would try to make it disappear.

It was worse that it had all been inspired by his own declaration that Bajor wasn't ready. Starfleet hadn't forgotten either. There was a certain degree of doubt in those he'd talked to when he said he couldn't say how it would go. It was true; nobody dared even guess. None of the politicians in the Federation would have stood a chance in the confusion of Bajoran politics.

Such was his state of mind when Kira informed him a delegation had come from Bajor. He tried to refuse to see them but she advised against it. They wanted the Federation to understand the nature of their concerns. She urged him to see them.

He didn't know any of them. Kira had noted they were all rather conventional. He assumed they had come to see the Emissary. Instead they needed him to be a go between. They were worried that if the Bajorans balked the Federation would abandon them. This time there were ten of them, thought only three had anything to say at first.

"Sir," said the eldest, "We worry there is a misunderstanding. We do not wish to accuse the Federation of bad intent. We simply want to insure our own survival by seeking certain assurances."

"I understand," he said, relieved that he could be honest for once. "The Federation was a bit surprised by the events, but there is time if cooler heads can prevail."

"I share your concern," said one man, tall and rather thin. "It is an unfortunate result of our recent history to distrust the motives of others. In this case I believe the distrust is misplaced." He sighed. "Unfortunately my view is not a popular one."

Sisko was disturbed by the man's sentiment, not only because it did not bode well for the Federation, but he didn't know how much of it he shared. He wasn't even sure what they expected of him. "What do you want me to do?" he asked.

An older woman spoke up next. "We wish, as one touched by both Bajor and the Federation, that you explain. We do not want their enmity. Even if our choice is to refuse admission, we do not dislike the Federation. We fully intent to continue as allies. We would simply feel it a better option for our own sakes."

Sisko took a deep breath. He wished he could do that. He remembered the complete confusion of the last official who'd contacted him. "That may not be easy," he began, trying to find a way to put it gently. "Federation admission once approved is considered a given."

The eldest man interjected quickly, "You mean they expect it to be accepted as if a gift from the gods."

Close, thought Sisko. "Do you have something I can present for you. I do think it would be better if it were your words."

"We do. You are the only proper person to present them." He was handed several padds.

Scanning them, he found letters from children and elders, farmers and city people, and it impressed him. They had made a great effort to make themselves understood. It was too bad the wrong people would read them. "I'll present them." he promised. He would do his best.

"We thank you, Sir," said the woman.

That might have been all, except he was missing some vital element. He looked around at the delegation. "From now on, this is off the record. I'd just like to talk. I'd like to know how each of you came to this decision."

They all nodded, and one at a time they explained. In the end, Sisko had fewer answers than he'd had before.

o0o

It had only been a few days, but Bashir had already established a pattern. He woke before the alarm, looking forward to the morning. He ate by himself in his quarters, carefully putting on his uniform. As he dressed, it was as if he was taking back a little of his soul.

He arrived punctually at the Infirmary, occasionally early if it was to be a busy day. They were still *his* staff, people who cared. There was a small bit of distance there hadn't been before. But no one could fault his performance as a doctor, or the care he put in his work. He channeled all the passion that had been taken from the rest of his life to this particular facet of it. He cared deeply about his patients, and often made a special trip to check on them after his shift had ended.

The hours spent in the Infirmary were his best times of the day. He felt whole then. Sloan or Sisko did not touch him here. Only the dreams he'd had all his life, dreams worth the risk of total disgrace and loss of freedom, were allowed to exist here. If this was taken away he'd be lost, but the rest didn't matter so much if he could be a doctor.

He ate his lunch at the replimat, always alone. Even wearing the uniform did not make him a part of the rest. If possible, he'd have stayed inside the confines of his cherished refuge the whole day. But he remembered what Vic had said. He did his job, and acted as normally as he could manage. It helped that Miles seldom came near, and Kira was too busy with Bajoran problems to have much contact. He worried a little about Dax, but she had been driven away as well. He rushed back to his refuge after a hurried lunch. Often, he stayed late in his office finishing up paperwork, anything to avoid the emptiness of the rest of his life.

But the time inevitably came that he had to leave. He went to his quarters, and read for a little while, catching up on the latest medical research. It made his time of peace last a little longer. But it was always marred by the split second of fear when the door opened that the bear would have moved. Deep down, he knew all of this was a temporary illusion. Sloan would find a way to destroy it as well. It made him cherish it all the more.

After a time, he put up his reading, and changed to civilian clothes. He skipped the severe black outfits. People had gotten used to his new dress. Nobody noticed that he didn't wear his uniform outside of work.

He ate at the Replimat. He stood in line and waited patiently like all the rest. There was nothing abnormal about his behavior except his choice of being alone.

After he was finished, he went to Quarks. He sat at the bar and had one drink. Then he went to Vic's. If it was an open night he might stay late. When he reserved it for himself he kept the time short. There was always a crowd waiting for it to open again.

After Vic's, he would often stop by the Infirmary to check on patients. Sometimes he'd stay longer if they were in serious condition. Eventually, he'd have to go home.

No one could see the panic he felt at the door, just before it opened. Sloan would come in the night, with as little warning as possible. If no one was watching, he'd often stand for a moment before he could make himself enter.

Kukalaka had not left his shelf, not yet. But he knew this was only an interlude in his life, a last reminder of what had been. When Sloan came again, everything would change. He still didn't know if survival mattered enough to change with it.

He still had the hypo hidden away, but had not used it. He slept well enough. The bad dreams were distant, and the nightmare to come hadn't yet arrived.

o0o

Miles rubbed his shoulder, wondering if he should wait until later when the doctor would be at lunch. He'd seen Julian, coming and going. He was long past the anger, but wasn't sure what to say to his friend. Julian pushed everyone away. Still, Miles had to try. Julian had hurt him, and he still didn't understand why. But he was convinced that his old friend was being pushed into it. Someone had hurt him first. He just wanted to be there.

But all his attempts at casual contact had failed. Julian was never hostile. He was always proper. In crisp British tones he would excuse himself, always with somewhere to go. Miles might have given up, as Ezri already had. She had enough problems with her job to have Julian's rejection added to them. But now and then, he could see the hesitation. Once or twice, he had been sure Julian had been ready to be his friend again. It was enough to give Miles the nerve to keep trying.

Someone bumped his shoulder and he winced. Julian could not ignore him this time. He remembered how the doctor had admonished him to be careful when he ran the rapids with Odo, and give his shoulder a chance to recover. Miles realized he hadn't been quite the same after that. Very few people would have noticed, but Miles did.

That had been the beginning. He was afraid this was the end.

He hesitated at the door, not sure of the reception he'd get. But Julian was busy with a patient and one of the nurses approached. "My shoulder, it slipped out," he said.

She led him to a biobed and had him lie down. It still hurt. Bashir didn't look up, but said quietly, "Stay still. I'll be done here soon."

Watching as he worked, Miles did not see the quiet, distant man he'd become. But it wasn't the friend he'd known either. He was a doctor, a professional engaged in his work. Miles noted as he gave the young woman his complete attention, and felt a strange ambivalence. This must be Julian's last refuge, and Miles hated to invade it.

Bashir finished, telling the patient to rest for a few days but she'd be alright. Then he turned his attention to Miles. "The rapids again?" he asked, but there was no humor in the tone.

"Yeah, Odo miscalculated," he said.

Bashir just nodded. "You need to be more careful, you keep injuring the same area."

"I've been working on my dart game," he said. "Maybe you'd like to see how much I've improved some night."

For a flash, the careful mask that protected Bashir from whatever scared him broke down. Miles was almost sure he would agree. But then he looked at the shoulder, just staring at it for a second. All Miles could see was a deep sense of pain. Then he sent it away and all that was left was a chilling coldness.

Bashir took a moment to reply while he worked on the shoulder. Miles noticed how careful he was, despite the cold look. He was a talented doctor, and nobody could take that away, not even whoever had stolen the rest. He comforted himself that something was left of the man he'd known.

Finally, finishing up, he said very quietly, "I wish I could but I don't have the time for darts anymore."

He wasn't talking about darts. There was so much else-and so many people-he didn't have time for either. "Well, if you do just let me know," said Miles with equal sadness. For a moment the coldness disappeared, and he saw the pain again. But there was nothing he could do but be there, and hope that someday Julian would let him be a friend again.

o0o

Miles couldn't possibly have known, he thought. The shoulder had given them away, spared him more hours of psychological torment. He still remembered, though even that was fading. He'd belonged here then. For a second, he'd been tempted to take Miles up on his offer. Miles was good at darts, even if he couldn't help being better. If it had been any other place than here he would have again rejected the offer immediately. But here, where a little of him still lived, he could consider it.

He respected the engineer. He even envied him. Miles was open and honest, not given to hiding things. He had worked for Starfleet Intelligence for a little while and not come back broken. He had never told his friend how much he admired his family. Miles was not alone, and as long as he had them he would never be. It made his own isolation hurt more.

He had nearly snapped at him, when he'd realized that Miles had been allowed to *see*. It would only encourage the Chief to keep trying. He wanted to be left alone and let the painful reminders fade away. But Miles was persistent. He wouldn't take no for an answer. He kept asking for the impossible.

Some day Miles would give up, and it would be a great relief. But standing there, Miles gingerly rubbing the sore shoulder, he hoped it wouldn't be too soon. As long as Miles was still willing to try, he wasn't entirely alone.

"I'll remember that," he said. It wouldn't happen, but it was somehow comforting that it was still possible. "Now, stay *out* of the rapids for a while this time so it heals."

He hadn't intended to make a reference to that other time, when days later his life had been shattered. He hadn't intended to sound a little warm. But Miles saw. He smiled a bit.

"I promise." And he would, Bashir knew. He had made the promise to a man he remembered, not the stranger he'd become.

Someday Sloan would take the rest. But he felt better for a little while knowing someone still cared.

o0o

Ben Sisko had spent most of the last week, since the petition had first been presented, dealing with politicians. He had spoken to half of Bajor, or at least it felt like it. In between, he'd stared at admirals and officials in the Federation Council.

To consider if it was proper to join the Federation was unheard of. He'd transmitted the letters and other things to the government officials, and they'd found their way into the daily press. It had caused a great stir, and he'd gotten several outraged messages from Federation personages.

He wasn't overly surprised when he got a personal visitor. The only thing unusual about it was using an admiral as a messenger.

Ross had arrived without warning, and left the shuttle immediately, demanding to see Sisko. He knew Ross better than most of them, from his time as adjacent, but was wary of the man. He was going to ask personal questions, and Sisko didn't know how to answer them.

Ross came on friendly, but he could tell it was an act. He wasn't a very good actor. "Well, it's been a while. I guess you don't miss your old office."

Sisko looked around him. "No. Why should I when I'm sitting in it?"

Ross quit acting. "Look, Ben. There are a lot of people who are worried about you."

Sisko wasn't surprised. He was worried about himself. But he said calmly, "Exactly what are they worried about?"

"You've been talking to too many politicians," Ross grumbled. "Starfleet wonders what side you're on in this discussion."

Sisko answered him in kind. "So does everybody else. I don't think I've said."

Ross looked him in the eyes. "Ben, you know Starfleet has been very tolerant of the Emissary business. You weren't transferred because it would create problems with the Bajorans. But we need your support this time. Are you still a Starfleet officer?"

"Are you questioning my loyalty to the Federation?" asked Sisko, outraged. "After all the young people I've had to send to their death's to preserve it you dare ask that?" He was incensed, and stared at Ross indignantly.

Ross stared back. "Ben, you can't keep this up forever. Yes, you've been a loyal officer in the war. But when we retook the station it wasn't just taking a strategic place, it was going home. You would gladly have died to save it. Don't deny it."

"This is home," said Sisko, suddenly tired. "I knew that the last time I was on Earth, and couldn't wait to get back after I realized I couldn't run from it anymore."

"How *do* you feel about this business?" asked Ross, softly.

Sisko said calmly, "They are very good questions. I think they deserve some answers. I don't think joining the Federation will harm Bajor, but they have the right to ask. And you have the responsibility of giving an honest answer."

"Me?" said Ross, thoughtfully.

"Isn't that what you're here for?" asked Sisko, his tone flat.

"No, actually that's a job for the politicians. I'm just passing through. I have very little time." Ross tapped his fingers on the table as if trying to decide what else to say.

"You shouldn't waste it, then," said Sisko.

Ross looked at him calmly. "Take care, Ben. If Bajor decides to opt to be on its own, you'll be pulled from this post almost immediately. They'll put someone here they can trust, someone who won't talk about the Prophets and who will always put the Federation first."

"Do you trust me?" asked Sisko, curious to see how honest Ross would be.

Ross paused. "You are a valuable officer," said the admiral.

Sisko watched him as he said it. "I'm sure you are as well," he replied with the same smile he gave Kai Winn.

o0o

While Sisko was having his conversation with Ross, Garak had a return visitor. He looked him over, noting the uniform was the same but he wore no indication of the judge advocates office. Garak assumed it to be deliberate. "I have the dress ready," he said. "It should fit as long as the measurements were correct."

He brought it out, still on a form. The man looked appreciative. "It's amazing. I'm sure she'll love it. I'm glad I could stop by. I'm just in and out this time. Any new fabrics as good as that one?"

The Cardassian was cautious, but smiled. "Nothing as unusual, but I do have some fine choices. If you want to look them over," he offered.

"I wish I could, but no time. I'll be back this way," he said, watching Garak as he folded and packed the dress. Garak looked up, and asked brightly, "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

The man came close. Handing him payment, he said simply, "You are a multi-talented man. I don't mean your code work either."

Garak grew cautious. "Perhaps, I've had an interesting life."

The man smiled. "The Chinese used to wish that as a curse. I work for a special group of people. I believe you already suspect."

Garak said carefully, "Perhaps ... "

"We need some information. It's hard to get but the sort of contacts you have would make it easier."

Garak realized they were asking. He remembered the man with the gun and the nightmares that hadn't yet ceased. He was sure his smooth talking visitor knew about that. If he said no, he'd always wonder when it would end differently.

But he had other reasons to agree. He'd done some checking on Bashir. Supposedly he'd gone to a burn conference just before the business with Sisko over the Romulans, but oddly enough he'd never gotten there. And yet he hadn't stayed on the station either. They'd made their first contact then. Before, Bashir had been quiet and a little withdrawn. He'd returned having recovered from a disease caught on his assignment, further changed. He'd been distant and occasionally cold. And yet all the records showed that he had gone there and come back. Something had happened, and they had claimed him then. Garak wanted to know more, but the only way was to have some sort of contact with them.

"What sort of information?" he asked.

The man held out a padd. "It's on here. Your DNA print will unlock it, including who to contact. I'm sure you are capable of much more. Think about it."

Garak looked at the padd. Perhaps he could find out who had ruined his friend without being trapped himself. But whatever happened, he knew what he was getting into. Bashir had not.

He took the padd. The man nodded. "I'll be by in a few more weeks. I should have more time to look at the materials. Maybe I'll have you make something for me."

Garak looked at the padd, wondering how it would end. But he was too curious to stay just a tailor.

o0o

Sisko noted that Ross had indeed left quickly. The shuttle he had arrived on departed a few hours later, after minor repairs had been made, the official reason for the stop.

He should have had trouble sleeping after all the unsettling events of the day. But after an initial period of restless tossing, he fell into a deep sleep. He woke very groggy the next morning, with a bad headache. But he decided to live with it rather than have to see Bashir.

o0o

Garak's young visitor had left on the same shuttle, narrowly missing Sisko as he watched the Admiral depart. The twenty others were mostly returning to duty after leave, and nobody noticed his departure at the first stop.

But that night, dressed in a different uniform, he appeared in Sisko's quarters well after Sisko was asleep. No alarms were set off. The Captain was already well sedated, and he injected the small chip quickly in the base of the neck. He then installed several devices that no scan would ever find. Injecting Sisko with a drug that would counter the sedative and induce normal sleep, he beamed out, leaving no trace.

o0o

Garak studied the padd, running the DNA scan first. It was required each time it was accessed. He'd found the information they wanted easily and sent it on. He was certain they could have gotten it themselves with little work. But this was a test. They wanted to know if he'd cooperate.

He was still watching Bashir, though much more carefully. The doctor had very dangerous associates. He wondered who among those on the station was under their employ. He hadn't spotted anyone, but was sure he was being watched.

He ran the pattern on the padd again and stared at it. He remembered the bodies. Someone had been theirs then as well.

It had been years before, when he was still in favor with Tain. He had found them, all killed with the same quick, sure, professional method. All the materials on the project were gone. He'd gone back to Tain with the news, and the cold hard man had said nothing. Nor had he really tried to find the killers.

They had intercepted the transmission by accident, and Tain had put his best people to work on it. It was encoded in an elaborate matrix which had taken months to untangle. But even then the results were useless. The random words were a code of some kind, based on some sort of key. Without the key they were unreadable, and only the sender had the key.

The next step had been to find the sender, as more transmissions were discovered. It should have been something the Order could easily accomplish. But not this time. It was always too late and the spy had already moved on. Tain had made it Garak's job alone to find the agent.

Garak was very close, and the decoding team had continued to work. He had come to compare a smattering of code left behind with the transmission, and found them.

Someone had killed them all quite efficiently. It had been a major loss for the Order, and the irony was that they were no closer than before. But it had been a warning. Garak had lost track of his prey, and Tain had not mentioned it again.

It was not the only time he'd heard of them. But he'd approached with caution. It was only when the encoding on the information he'd sent had matched that he realized that Bashir's friends were the same. But it made sense. They had wanted to know if he'd betray the Federation. The Romulans already had the Tal'Shiar. The Cardassian's had had the Order. There had been rumors of operations conducted by neither, marked by their efficiency and finality.

Garak still believed that he could discover what he needed without being trapped. But there was a small bit of doubt that hadn't been there before. He could not get it out of his mind that after the deaths, Tain had left them alone. It was small comfort that their mole probably died with the rest of the Obsidian order.

o0o

It had been a very long day for Dr. Julian Bashir, a ship having docked after a run-in with the Jem'Hadar, and the entire afternoon and evening taken up by emergencies. He was very tired. He had gotten a hurried meal and gone to his quarters to collapse for the night.

But that was not to be. He had been so tired he had barely paused this time. But Kukalaka was sitting in the middle of his couch.

Tired and dirty, he stripped off the soiled uniform and showered. He'd get as much sleep as he could. He dressed to go out, and instantly fell asleep.

o0o

End, Part 2, Chapter 8


	9. Part 2 Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Bashir watched as Sloan entered the room, several padds in hand. He'd been awakened by a buzzing, and still disoriented from sleep had been transported. He felt mildly dizzy and his head ached. He still didn't know what to do.

Sloan stopped, as if to study him. "Welcome back, Doctor," he said.

Privately, Julian thought it was hardly a pleasure. "I don't remember being asked," he answered.

"True, but I think this assignment will prove something of interest." Sloan was arraigning some sort of display.

Julian told himself that he'd been forced to murder someone and betray the trust of a friend. He didn't want to imagine what else Sloan had in mind. A tall man, dressed slightly differently, entered the room. He nodded at Bashir. "I will answer any question you have about the equipment," he said.

He didn't want to ask any. He didn't want to be that involved. But nobody cared.

Sloan continued. "Dr. Halbert will make sure you are fully briefed on the equipment and its capabilities. I'm sure you'll find them quite useful. In the meanwhile, I think you'll find the identity of your assignment most interesting."

Except for the two blood tests, he'd kept medicine untainted. He hadn't delved any further into the identity of the disease. He could do nothing about it anyway. But he was sure some of it was medical equipment. He felt a little bit of himself slip away.

Sloan lit the display. He was stunned to see Captain Benjamin Sisko. "Sisko?" he asked.

"Come now, Doctor," said Sloan. "This is not *just* the commander of a starbase, but the Emissary to the Prophets. He commands the most vital location in the quadrant right now. And he fills a vital and central role as a religious icon and hero to his adopted homeland. He has not betrayed the Federation so far. But what happens when the two clash directly, as they very possibly will in the near future, and the good captain must decide which side to choose."

He could tell Sloan now, if it really interested him. Sisko would never abandon Bajor. He'd run back to Earth when the pagh wraiths killed Jadzia and darkened the orbs. It was not just guilt about her death. And he'd run back when he found an answer. He remembered how the people had crowded around Sisko when the station had been liberated. He still despised him, but he knew the man too well. Bajor was home. He would protect his home as he'd already done.

What if Sloan was planning to change his mind? Would his medical advice be used to make a little box for Sisko, to push all the right buttons? Part of him was pleased. Part of him didn't care at all. But it would take the last refuge away, taint medicine as everything else had been ruined. He could not stand that.

"Sisko won't cooperate like Garak did, if that's what you're planning," he said.

"But you misunderstand," said Sloan, quite graciously. "You have a very simple assignment. Just watch him. Use your doctor's mind to evaluate his actions. You're not to interfere, just report."

He knew what use Sloan might make of the information. But Sisko had been as responsible for the ruin of his life as Sloan. Unbidden, he thought of all he'd lost. Bajor meant everything to Sisko. It would be rather ironic if Sisko's mistake cost him home. He ignored the thought that it might be quite proper.

o0o

Halbert had taken him to a lab, demonstrating the small scanner someone had already placed inside Sisko. Bashir had listened, his mind only half-way on the assignment. "Is this the same kind of thing they put in me when I was sent to kill the double agent?" he asked.

Halbert looked up, annoyed he'd been interrupted. "I should take care, Doctor. I would watch what I said."

Bashir looked at him, wondering what had been done to compromise this man. "I was infected with a virus," he said softly, "one I still carry. It's hard to forget."

Halbert glanced at him. "Are you feeling ill?"

"No. But it's there." He picked up the receiver. It looked like a normal metering device. But it displayed full bioreadings on the subject, as if he was lying on a biobed. "What sort of range does this have?" he asked, unable to ignore his curiosity.

Halbert went back to his toneless voice. "It varies. But when both of you are on the station there should be no problem."

Bashir picked up the second device, one that masqueraded as a padd. He pushed a button and nothing happened. "What about this?"

"Oh, it activates the monitor. You'll be able to conduct surveillance on your subject from your quarters."

They'd done some creative rewiring too. He had a feeling none of it would show on any of the station's readouts. "That's all? he asked.

"More or less. You should be able to listen to the subject when he's not in his quarters, from the same control. But that is really all you need. What matters is what's in here," he said, tapping his head. "All of this will mean nothing without a good analysis."

He didn't want to do it. He really didn't want to have to see Sisko at all. But Sloan wasn't asking. When had Halbert been made to decide? Had it been as hard a choice for him?

But Vic was still right. He wasn't sure. Observing, with a bit of analysis thrown in wasn't a lot to ask. His staff, split between Starfleet and Bajorans, had discussed the petition and what it meant quite a lot. It might even be interesting to see how Sisko was holding up. "That's true," he said.

Halbert had pulled something up on the system. He was asked to sit. "Since you mentioned it I decided to look you up. You do carry a viral infection, but it should be almost unnoticeable."

Bashir looked up as he took a blood sample. "The white cell count was too high," he said.

"Stay put," Halbert said, disappearing into a side room. Bashir yawned. He still hadn't had much sleep. In a distant way he was pleased, even if he was the patient. It proved that they didn't have all the answers. He dozed a little, while waiting.

Halbert asked him to follow, and pointed at a bed. "I'm going to check something. Time to go to sleep."

o0o

Waking in his quarters in the morning, he didn't remember anything else. The two items were there, and he found himself dressed for bed. He was sleepy, but had more energy than he'd had in days. He didn't bother with a blood test. He had a feeling there was nothing to find anymore.

He was rushed, but could not help but notice the two devices. He didn't want to touch them. It further entangled him in Section 31. It stole a little more of himself. But Sloan expected cooperation. If he didn't he would be replaced. Sloan would get what he wanted regardless of what he did.

He could not deny his curiosity. The bio-readout from the implanted monitor was very complete. The doctor in him studied the subjects condition, and the amount of stress was no surprise. Idly, he switched on the monitor, and thought Sisko was already gone. But listening, he recognized the voice. It was Ross. Sisko was pacing while he talked, while using his diplomatic tone, but Bashir could hear more than that.

"Ben, do you have any idea what she wants?" asked Ross.

"None. She'll eventually get around to it. But I suspect she just wants to know what I'm going to do." Sisko was keeping his voice level, but it was obvious he could barely stand the conversation.

"Where does she stand?" asked Ross.

Sisko sighed. "Kai Winn doesn't confide in me."

"Will she follow your example?" asked Ross.

"Perhaps," was Sisko's terse reply.

Ross asked a few more questions and Sisko gave more one word answers. But he wasn't listening to the words. He understood that even without Sisko's order, Sloan would have found a way to win. He didn't want to work for Sloan, but he saw little choice anymore. He would never get his life back, whatever he did. And yet he still did not know what he'd ultimately do. He heard, in Sisko's tone, the same uncertainty as in his own.

For a moment, he almost forgave the Captain.

o0o

Ben Sisko was at his most diplomatic. "Welcome, Your Eminence," he said, almost wishing it was Ross again. "Is there something we can do for you this visit?"

She smiled, her face never losing its carefully prepared look. "Emissary," she said with a polite nod. "I simply wanted to talk."

'About me,' thought Sisko, but he gave her back a plastic smile. "There is much to talk about," he said.

She nodded. "I agree. We have a meeting arraigned to discuss the matter. We wish you to come."

She was smiling, that little half-smile she gave when she was hiding something. Sisko thought about Ross, and how he'd react to such a meeting. He suppressed a small smile himself. "And who is 'we'?"

"Several interested parties," she said sweetly. "We hope to meet on Bajor in the next few days."

Now he understood why she had come. This was supposed to be kept quiet. Starfleet would be unhappy. Ross would be more unhappy. He looked forward to explaining it to him.

"I'll be there," he told the Kai.

o0o

Garak had done a little quiet research. Concentrating on the time after Bashir supposed return from the medical conference, he found nothing odd. But Bashir had spent a lot of time talking to Sisko, and Sisko had left private messages to Odo, Kira and Jadzia. There had been some kind of meeting. Whatever had been said, Bashir had kept away from Sisko after that. It would be easy to find out what had driven him away.

But that was the simple part. His visitor had given him a good idea of who had turned Bashir. But it was going to be much more difficult than he thought-and far more dangerous. However he did it, it must be untraceable to him. But the theft of his friend would be avenged.

At lunch he'd been watching Bashir, eating quietly by himself as had become his preference. Something had changed. It was only the slightest of difference, but Bashir's mannerism's were altered. He was preoccupied. He'd been in a hurry to finish and go back to work before. Garak wondered what had been so interesting that he was taking his time.

It wasn't until Sisko passed by that it began to make sense. Bashir had hardly looked at the Captain of late, his earlier hostility replaced by total disinterest. Bashir had only looked at him for a moment, but it was as if he had never seen him before.

o0o

It had been another long day, and Julian was very tired. Opening the door was different that day. He didn't worry about Kukalaka. He would not have time for Vic's, and was too tired anyway. He planned to spend the evening alone for once.

He'd seen Sisko at lunch with several Bajoran's visiting the station, and the Captain had almost looked relaxed. Bashir had rushed through the day's reports, as much as he could manage. But he'd been too preoccupied to make much progress. He didn't want to use Sloan's toys, but the temptation was there.

As a doctor, he was interested in the bioreadings monitor. There were so many good medical uses for it. What else were they keeping to themselves?

It was the surveillance device that disturbed him. It was different than noting Sisko's mood over lunch. It was intruding into his private life, and giving Sloan all the right buttons. Once, he'd have done it out of anger. But he had no more right to give Sisko to Sloan than Sisko had had in giving that order. But he must appear to cooperate. Sloan could be checking on him. He would have to look for a little while at least.

He activated the device. Sisko was in his quarters, reading. After a few minutes he turned it off. Sisko was tense, but not as much as before. Whatever he was going to do, he had begun to make the decision. But not even Sloan could insist on him watching Sisko sit and read.

He opened his log. He noted that Sisko was relaxed and resting, and left it at that.

He could have gone to Quarks, but had much to consider. He wouldn't be able to get by with that forever. Sisko would say or do something he'd have to note, or something too important to slip around would occur, and he'd be forced to analyze Sisko's actions.

The odd part was he felt noting for the man. He still was despised. He realized his reticence wasn't at hurting Sisko. He would be throwing Sisko into an abyss but it didn't matter all that much to him. What mattered was the toll it would take on himself.

He couldn't go back. He was too deeply involved with Sloan by now. But medicine was still mostly untouched, his last refuge. The first report he wrote that led to Sisko's destruction would lead to his own as well. It was only a matter of time.

o0o

Garak arrived at Quark's very late in the evening, and after a quick glance around settled himself at the bar. The establishment was nearly deserted, and he waited until Quark approached before sitting the latinum in front of the bartender. Quark looked at it and then Garak.

"He's not here," he told the Cardassian. "He canceled."

"Ah, but I wasn't looking for him," said Garak. Quark eyed him curiously. "It would be best if the good doctor wasn't here."

He had Quark's attention. "Nobody's there now. Would you like more privacy?"

Garak smiled. "This will do. We wouldn't want to make anyone suspicious."

Quark nodded, growing more serious. He'd done business with the Ferengi before, and he would keep this to himself. "Would you like Kanard? I have some that's said to be a good vintage."

Garak nodded, and watched as Quark filled his glass. He sipped it. "Excellent," he said, adding a little more latinum. "I need some information but it must not be traceable to me."

Quark nodded, pouring in a little more Kanard. "That is possible. I depends on the sort of information."

"I'd rather not say. I should be clear. What I need is the means of finding it myself." Garak dropped a little more latinum in Quark's hand.

"I'm sure I can help," said Quark, "but it would be useful if I knew the sort of information."

Garak smiled. "Quite simple. Just before the time the Romulan's entered the war, the doctor went to a medical conference. He met with Sisko and several other afterwards. I need details on that. Also any ... unusual surveillance going on."

Quark's cooperation was now a given. "The doctor hasn't been himself of late. And the captain sent some very private communications about that time."

Garak absent mindedly bumped his drink spilling it on Quark's coat. "I must apologize, I wasn't paying attention. Come by the shop tomorrow and I'll see to it."

Quark was looking at his sleeve. He said very softly. "I will. You know what that program was. I'd like to know what was so notable that it caused my holosuites to be dismantled." He looked at Garak, still apparently surveying the damage. "I have other information."

Garak remembered how Tain had sat at his desk, stony-faced, as he'd described the executed men. He'd disregarded the inner warning when he'd gone into the holosuite. He wouldn't again. It was too dangerous for Quark to be any more involved than necessary.

He said firmly, "No. Stay away from these people. They are very dangerous."

Quark studied him. "You're worried," he said thoughtfully. "I'll come in the morning."

o0o

Sisko had not announced that he would be going to Bajor. He had simply called in Kira in the morning, and explained that something had come up and he would be gone for the day. It wasn't unusual, though his sudden departures were more often on the Defiant. She didn't question it, but she did look curious.

He'd gotten a short message that morning, before he'd left his quarters. It had been from Winn. He had stared at the screen for a few minutes, aware of the significance of the moment. He was taking a chance. He didn't know what would come of it.

She hadn't said who would be there. He hadn't asked. He didn't know the exact moment when he had chosen this path, but when Ross had danced around his question he had known that he was standing at a crossroads, and whatever path he chose the other would be left behind.

o0o

It had been a very quiet evening. There had been little to do at work, and Sisko had read for a time before going to bed early. He'd had little to put in his report, and had decided to go to Quarks a little early.

He almost left when he noticed Miles was there, sitting by himself. The Chief looked about as grim as he felt. He had run one last blood test. There was still a small trace of the disease, but something inside him was countering its effect. If they wanted to eliminate him, all they need do was remove it. He had suspected before, but now he'd confirmed it.

Sloan owned his life. He could not deny that.

Miles looked depressed. Eventually he'd work his way over to Bashir. Thinking of the blood test, he almost wished Miles would come to him. It would be easier that way. He simply couldn't pretend anymore.

He got up, holding his drink. Miles looked up at him, surprised and cautious. "Mind if I sit down?" he asked.

O'Brien looked at him curiously, but pointed at a chair. "Ezri left a little while ago."

"She's been pretty busy," he said, trying to think of small talk to fill the time.

"She lost a couple of them she sent back last week. She was pretty down," Miles said softly.

Bashir though about the people on that shuttle that had been captured so he could reach his victim, back when Sloan had first compromised him. He thought about the internment camp and the reports that had come from intelligence about prisoners. A little of him understood how she had felt. But he'd learned to live with it. She would have to as well. "She's not responsible," he said.

"She knows that," said Miles, his tone practical. "She still ... feels like it."

He remembered when Ezri had first arrived, before Sloan had isolated him so completely. He'd gotten to know her a little. He liked her. For a little while she'd come to him to talk. But he'd pushed her away, like he was going to Miles. "She has you to talk to," he said.

Miles shrugged. "I guess. I think I'd rather have my job." He paused, looking perplexed. "Look," he said, changing the subject, "I just wonder why your bothering."

Bashir knew he had to say something. He didn't want to say it here, in the middle of the room. He glanced at the dart board. "It's been a while," he suggested.

Miles showed no enthusiasm. But he took the hint. Standing in the alcove, he handed Julian his darts. Miles was waiting on him. "Might as well get it over with," he said.

Julian aimed and threw the dart. It hit dead center. He didn't aim the second one and came very close. Miles watched with resignation. He was apparently careless with the others, and they landed off center. "I'm slipping," he said.

"Yeah," said O'Brien, not buying it. He turned to look at Julian. "Why, after all the other times, why now?"

Miles threw his darts, doing quite well. Bashir found he couldn't talk about it in a place this open. ""Let's go to Vic's," he suggested.

Miles replaced the darts in their holders. "I guess," he said off handed.

o0o

Miles watched as Bashir produced a stack of latinum and handed it to Quark. "I'd like Vic alone for a couple of hours," he said.

Quark nodded. "Nobody's there now."

Miles followed Julian up the stairs into the holosuite. He remembered the many times they'd done this before, but this *felt* so different. The lounge looked the same. Vic came out to greet them. "We're private tonight?" he said.

Bashir nodded, and Miles watched the unspoken interaction between the doctor and the hologram. He envied Vic. "For a while. We need to talk."

"Okay, but would you like a few songs first?" ask Vic.

Bashir glanced at Miles. "Up to you," he suggested.

Miles didn't know what to expect. Julian had obviously wanted privacy. But he saw a different man than the one who usually ate his dinner in silence and retreated inside. He decided he wanted some time to think about it. "Sure," he said.

They took a table. He noticed that Bashir brought the bottle he'd had with him, and it wasn't synthol.

Vic sang several songs, mostly quiet tunes. Bashir listened intently, and he thought the doctor was as depressed as Ezri had been.

The singer and band left, and Bashir poured him a drink. He held his up for a toast. "Here's to friendship," he said, but didn't smile.

Miles clinked glasses, adding, "Friendships that matter, and last."

Bashir had dropped the attitude already, and now he dropped the rest. For the first time in months Miles felt like he was looking at his friend. "Yes," he said, sadly. "You mattered, and still do." But there was more, and Miles caught the hesitation. "But you have to leave me alone."

Miles just stared at him. There was a sadness so deep he couldn't put it in words in his friend's eyes. "Why?" he asked, not knowing what else to say.

Bashir looked utterly lost for a second. "Something happened. I can't tell you what. But my life isn't my own. It's too late to take it back."

Miles looked at him in disbelief. "I could tell something had happened. But Julian, you can't give up. You can't let whoever did this win."

Suddenly the doctors face became cold. "They have. I'm not the man you knew."

Miles just looked at him. He saw someone part stranger, part familiar. He didn't want to say good bye. "I'll get used to the new you," he said.

The coldness disappeared, and the Julian he'd known came back, this time with a look of desperation. "Please, Miles. I value the times we had, and wish they could go on. But they can't. Could you be two people? Could you let a friend destroy one of the few things left that has meaning by making it a lie?"

Miles was stunned. "Is it a lie?"

Julian collapsed into the chair. "Not now. I'm trying to hang on to a little of *me*. But I know it's a losing battle. I don't want everything to become a charade. I'd rather remember all the good things without them being ruined." His voice was calm but the sorrow in his eyes betrayed the rest.

Miles looked away. "I'll leave you alone if that's what you want. But I don't understand. Who did this to you?"

Bashir had already retreated behind his mask. "I hope you never know," he said. Taking a sip of his drink, he stared at the stage.

Miles suddenly felt unwelcome. "Good bye, Julian. If you change your mind, I'm here."

Bashir didn't respond, and Miles stumbled out and down the stairs. Standing in the bar, he was overwhelmed with memories. He hurried out the door, before the grief filling his life was too obvious.

o0o

End, Part 2, chapter 9


	10. Part 2 Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Garak had been busy with a customer when the message had come in, and his *friend* was most patient. He was in civilian dress this time, very non-descrip in nature. Garak thought it fit the man better than the uniform he'd worn before.

"I'm sorry, but I had a customer," said Garak.

"I am sure they went away quite happy," said the man. "You do have a wonderful sense of style."

Garak thought he sounded a bit rushed. He was trying to get the small talk our of the way quickly. "I do appreciate the compliment. But I do have things to do."

He looked a little relieved. "Well, mostly I'd like to place an order. It's not for me, but a friend has a birthday coming up and I thought he'd like a really nice outfit. His daughter is getting married soon and he lacks any sense of style."

Garak knew something important was happening. He stalled a little, making it sound more natural. "Certainly, but I have a wide selection of colors and fabrics. What would he like?"

"Ah, I'll leave all of that to you. He wouldn't know. Blue, perhaps, but aside from that .. "

"How soon is this needed?" ask Garak.

"If you could rush it ... " He looked apologetic. "I should have thought of it sooner. But I'll be able to drop by in a few days."

"I think I can manage. I look forward to seeing you." Garak was as gracious as ever. But as soon as the screen went blank a trace of the concern he had showed in his eyes. The measurements had been received and he would have it ready. But every time he used the fabric again, he'd remember this particular order. It was a challenging game he was playing, but he was

all too aware of the chances of losing.

o0o

Bashir had heard of Sisko's sudden departure that morning, and had said nothing. But he noticed the edge in Kira's voice at the staff meeting that day, and the careful way she'd worded everything. Sloan would be interested, he noted in passing. He would have to include it in his log, for it was too public to ignore.

There would be other things as well, as soon as Sisko returned. Time was running out. If he was to ever defy Sloan it had to be before he'd lost anything worth preserving.

Sisko wouldn't be back that night. He'd have a last night of peace. He knew where he wanted to spend it.

Quark was preoccupied when he entered the bar, looking up from a padd. "Problems?" he asked the Ferengi.

"Missing shipments," signed the bar owner. "The third this month. What can I do for you?"

Bashir dropped a stack of latinum on the bar. "Vic's, for myself tonight."

"Sure," said Quark.

He remembered how hard it had been the first time, wishing he wasn't reminded that everything got easier once you got used to the idea.

o0o

Quark did not arrive until late afternoon, but Garak hid his annoyance. He was holding the damaged shirt, and handed it to the Cardassian. There was something rolled inside it. Garak took it from him, casually setting it aside.

"I had another shipment get lost," said Quark.

"Have there been many?" asked Garak.

"Too many. How am I supposed to run a bar when my shipments disappear half the time."

Quark sounded absolutely normal. Garak was certain his annoyance was genuine. "I'll have the shirt back tomorrow," said Garak. "I haven't lost any shipments myself."

"My cargo's are lot more valuable to them," said Quark, looking around. "Bashir didn't sound very sorry either."

"Ah," said Garak thoughtfully.

"He booked Vic for himself. He paid better than usual."

Garak eyed the Ferengi. "You appear to be doing well."

"He isn't." Quark was looking at a shirt. "I like this. Could you?"

Garak smiled graciously, taking the shirt. "Certainly," he said.

Quark followed him into a dressing room. Once the door was shut he got very serious. "What about the program?"

Garak eyed him grimly. "I can't tell you. If I did they might kill you. Then your brother would have to run the bar."

Quark looked at him for a moment. "I ran across something the other day. It's yours if you want it. But I want to know about the program."

Quark had not survived so long without a good sense of survival. "I don't think it's a good idea. But it might be worth it."

"Biomemetic gel," said Quark.

Garak sounded calm. "What would I do with it?"

"I don't know. But somebody had a use for it. 85 liters of it, to be exact." The Ferengi watched him calmly.

Garak eyed him. "It wasn't a standard program. I don't know how much of it went on in my head but I never want to see another one."

He couldn't keep the emotion out of his voice. Quark eyed him. "You're right. I don't think I want to know." He handed Garak a padd. "But sometimes they make a few mistakes," he added.

Garak took the padd. He still had the suit to make happy. He was beginning to wish he'd never heard of them. He'd picked up the shirt and unwrapped the object inside. "And this?"

Quark studied his shirt, "It will route any communications through a filter. If anybody tries to follow it erases the pathway." Quark pointed at the padd. "I use one all the time"

Looking at the padd, Garak said softly, "I'll take that as a recommendation."

o0o

He had spent what might be his last evening as himself with Vic and his music. At first, Vic had asked no questions. He listened to the swirl of conversation from the make-believe audience, wishing his own life was like theirs. Once, it had been an amusing game. Now it was all too real. In the end, unable to take the noise, he'd banished the images.

Vic came to his table and asked quietly, "Trouble?"

He looked at the singer, lost and numb inside. "They take you in little pieces, you know. Nibble away at you. First they ... stole the most." He thought of the moment the device pierced the man's skin, and shuddered. "But after that it's so gradual you don't even notice. You even discover you can sleep at night." He thought of how he'd returned the hypo to its proper place. He didn't need its help anymore.

"Have you decided?" asked Vic.

"Maybe it's past that," he said. "There isn't much of anything to care about anymore."

"How do you know," asked Vic quietly.

"Medicine is the last thing I have and I even owe that to them. But I needed it so badly I let them maneuver the lies until they were true." He stared grimly at his drink. "Once Garak told me it was all true, but especially the lies. I understand it now."

Vic sighed. "Yes, Garak."

Bashir looked at him oddly, but decided not to ask. "Now they are going to take my integrity as a doctor. There won't be anything else left."

Vic nodded, and shrugged. "No, you have to give it to them. Always remember that."

He moved toward the stage, and sat at the darkened edge. The band played quietly behind him. He started to sing. " Moons and junes and ferris wheels, the dizzy dancing way you feel, when every fairy tale come real, I've looked at clouds that way. But now it only blocks the sun, it rains and shows on everyone, so many things I should have won, but clouds got in my way ..."

Bashir watched as Vic sang rather softly. He'd not done this one before. ". . . . The dizzy dancing way you feel, when every fairy tale comes real, I've looked at life that way." He smiled to himself, remembering better moments. "But now it's just another show. You leave them laughing when you go. And if you care, don't let them know, don't give yourself away." His smile turned melancholy. "I've looked at life from both sides now, from up and down, and still somehow, it's life's illusion's I recall. I really don't know life, at all ... " Bashir let himself get lost in the music one last time. Vic finished, "I really don't know clouds, at all."

"Thank you," said Bashir. He didn't add that it felt like good bye.

o0o

He'd fallen asleep quickly, because he was exhausted by the emotions. But a telltale noise alerted him to the presence of someone in the room. He said quietly, "Lights," and startled his visitor.

He'd expected Sloan, but it wasn't him. But he did recognize the man. He'd been is adviser at the hearing. It figured.

"What?" he asked, wishing he'd go away.

He was officious and to the point. "Sisko will be back tomorrow. We want to know what transpired on Bajor. He talks to himself in his quarters, which is why you have the device. Don't just look and turn it off. We expect results this time, and proper ones."

The man disappeared in a transporter blur. He stared at the space where he'd been. He wished he could escape back into the illusions but they were all gone.

o0o

Sisko had returned sometime very late, and Bashir vaguely remembered a beep when Sisko had entered his quarters. The day had followed in a kind of fog. The numbness was still there. He did his job and nobody noticed. But he didn't feel anything. He came back early, eating a quick dinner before that. He locked the door. The biomonitor showed stress, but not an untold amount. Sisko had made some sort of decision, or had come near.

He turned on the monitor. Sisko was pacing this time. Finally he sat, rather heavily, in the middle of his couch.

"Personal Log, Stardate ... fill it in. What do I do?" Sisko sounded very tired, and yet oddly relaxed. He listened as the captain started pacing again. "I've got to talk about this. I can't sit on the fence anymore. I have to make a decision."

Bashir looked up at the man, as he collapsed again. This time he didn't try to get up. "I remember early in the war. All we'd done was retreat. It was getting more and more hopeless. We took out the white storage unit just to show them we could." He got silent again, putting his head in his hands for a moment. Bashir watched, fascinated at the play of emotions. "But I was afraid. All I could see was Earth dominated by Jem'Hadar. All I could see was the end of freedom for generations."

Sisko shook his head as if to clear the image of something. "And then, all those dead, all those fine young people who gave their lives for the ideals of the Federation. All those people who believed in the values it represented." He sat up straight, as if looking directly at Bashir. "It was bittersweet when we took it back, so many dead, but so much joy too. It was ... intense. I knew then. I was home."

He stood up and started pacing again, his voice louder. "I knew. I'd gladly die to defend the Federation, and Earth. I'd lie to save them. I'd sell my self-respect. But it's not home. Here is home. Bajor is home."

He sat again, calmer for a time. "At first, I welcomed the unification of my home with the one I'd left. It would be so easy that way. But there are so many *questions* Starfleet and the Federation can't or won't answer. I just can't ignore them. And then there are the doubts. All that before the Romulans came in was accepted by someone in the Federation far too easily." His voice was deep now, full of intense pain. "And that business with Bashir. It was a mistake but maybe the same ones turned him into that cold-blooded monster he became after they took him."

Bashir utterly froze. He had long wanted Sisko to apologize, but this was the best he was going to get. Sisko started talking again, just above a whisper. "All those ideals that so many died for-still are dying for-are they just an illusion? Has expediency become our way? I remember the Sanctuary District, when Bashir asked, amid all that misery, if under the skin we were no better than the Cardassians or the Romulans? Maybe, if you look deep enough, you find that's true."

Abruptly, Bashir was shaken from his trance by Sisko, when he picked up something and threw it. His baseball bounced off the wall. Sisko just watched as it finally settled.

"What do I do?" asked Sisko in a little above a whisper. "Starfleet questions my loyalty, and I don't know what to say. But all those dead, all those names, what do I say to them?"

Sisko started sobbing, deep broken sobs unlike anything Bashir had ever heard from him. He kept muttering "what do I say?"

Bashir couldn't watch anymore. He turned off the device, and stared at the monitor for a time. Indeed, it was a good question. What did either of them do to extricate themselves from this trap?

o0o

Garak stared at the padd, stunned. All he could remember were the dead Cardassian's he'd found so long ago, the ones one of *them* had killed. And he could see this new slaughter, bodies thrown at odd angles, some still alive but slowly dying from the Jem'Hadar induced internal bleeding. And he could see the worry on the faces as well when they realized that they had not only failed but given over a deadly weapon to their enemies. Whatever his contact's people were called, they'd taken the gel and were making a biological weapon out of it. But they'd miscalculated. They'd tried to test it and left their hidden lab. The Jem'Hadar had killed them all, and taken the virus. With its own expertise it had altered the virus so now it killed the same species it was meant to save.

It was said the Founders were dying. Garak wondered, should they fail to save themselves, if they would guarantee that they would not die alone.

His new friend was going to pick up the suit in a short while. He had once thought humans incapable of the cold-blooded deceit that Tain had expected. He'd seen them as too weak and too easily broken. But he had come to reevaluate this idea. He would be very wary of this man. Behind the smile he was as cold as the Orders best.

o0o

Bashir had waited to write his report, even if it was late. They wanted to know what had gone

on at the meeting, and Sisko had said nothing of that. He suspected they had other ways of finding out, but his job was to keep tabs on the inner Sisko. His reports would be very carefully analyzed. If he told them about the Sisko he'd seen that night, he was sure Sloan would find a way to take advantage of it.

He would have to find a way to avoid that.

Sisko had admitted it was a mistake. He knew that Sloan would have persisted with or without Sisko. It wouldn't have really made much of a difference. Sisko had called him a monster. It had touched something deep inside him. Once, in his own eyes, he had been one. He had learned to respect what he was. But it hurt that Sisko had come to that conclusion.

He decided he would not be a monster. He would not be a party to the destruction of Sisko or anyone else. But he would do it very carefully.

Shutting out his emotions, he considered what Sisko had revealed. He began the report with his physical condition. "Subject was very tired, and had difficulty concentrating." He was being torn by dual loyalties, but was not disloyal to either. "Subject expressed doubts about the stability of the situation." He wanted it to work out, somehow. "He expressed hopes that a solution could be found." But he'd given no details. If decisions had been made, Sisko hadn't given a clue. "However, subject did not reveal any details of his meeting that can be used to validate any analysis of his outlook." He read it over again. Sisko had said he was cold-blooded. The report certainly sounded that way. He added the finishing touch, in case anyone thought he wasn't interested in his job. "It is recommended that the trends noted be pursued by further observation."

He closed the log and transmitted it, and went to sleep without any difficulties. He was not alone. His last thought as he fell asleep was that now he shared far more with Sisko than anyone he knew.

o0o

Garak was smiling as his visitor viewed the suit, currently being worn by a mannikin. The young man was in civilian clothing this time, and was smiling as well. "Mr. Garak, you've outdone yourself. It is most impressive. I'm not sure he'll really notice, but his daughter will be very pleased. And very surprised. His idea of clothes is the first plain replicator pattern he can find."

"I'm most gratified," he said. At least he could be sincere about that. If there was a daughter and a wedding, he cautioned himself. He wasn't used to humans being as manipulative as he was.

His customer handed Garak a padd. Garak took it cautiously. "I'd like something for myself. I sort of put this together. If you think it could be improved ... "

Garak studied the image. "It is quite appealing," he said. It was a little too much like the sort of thing Bashir had picked out, but Garak kept that to himself.

"I'll be back through here in a week or so, if you could have it ready then." He was still smiling.

"I believe so," he answered. But there was a sound, almost inaudible, and his visitor stopped smiling.

He handed Garak another padd. "When I pick up the outfit add this to it. We need this information as soon as possible but it isn't wise to transmit it at this time. So include it on the padd. That's all you need to do."

Despite his long training, Garak was privately surprised by the abrupt change in mood. "I may be able to get it sooner," he said, testing the man.

"Can't be helped. I must stress this is very sensitive material. Take great care how you get it. It must not be traced to you. I trust you have your own resources." The tone was cold as a dead sun, and Garak wished he would simply bring the padds. That way he wouldn't have the orders to remind him of the growing feeling of being as trapped as the doctor.

o0o

Sisko rose early, having been notified that Ross would be calling that morning. It was unfortunate it was in person. He found he didn't want to deal with the man across a desk. Subspace transmissions gave him a little room, even if it was only in his mind.

He was prepared. He had not said a word about the meeting to anyone, aware the walls had ears, but would tell Ross. He didn't trust the admiral, but it would suggest that he was going through official channels. It was important to be proper. Ross wasn't going to like what he heard.

The elected government of Bajor had considered the petition. They had voted to request official answers before negotiations regarding Federation membership proceeded any further. Sisko hadn't really been asked. Ross vastly overestimated his influence. But he knew he'd be blamed. He intended to come across as Captain Sisko this time. He had argued that negotiations should continue, but others had disagreed. He had tried. But he had not, admittedly, said a word against the request.

He knew the sort of things Ross would bring up. His position as the Emissary, his derailing of the first unification, and his release of the letters counted against him. But Ben Sisko still considered himself a loyal member of the Federation. He intended that to come across to the admiral.

Ross arrived late, and he'd been busy with the ever present pile of reports when his visitor was announced. Sisko wished he'd had more warning, but he believed he could manage.

Ross hadn't bothered with any banter. They'd hardly sat down in the conference room before he asked. "What happened, Ben?"

Sisko was being very official. "They are going to request answers to the questions raised by the petition. The vote is official." He watched as Ross got more tense. "They get answers or there won't be any more negotiations."

Ross looked glum. But he recovered faster than Sisko expected. "How firm is the support for this?" he asked.

Sisko privately wondered if he already knew. "Very firm. I did support continuing the negotiations, but minds were already made up." If Ross did have private information, nothing he'd said would contradict it.

"Can they be dissuaded?" asked Ross, thoughtfully.

"Perhaps I'm not being clear," said Sisko. "I don't believe the Bajoran government wants to refuse membership, but they just want some answers. If it appears that the Federation is unwilling to cooperate, they may choose to reject membership. But it isn't anywhere near as bad a situation as it looks."

Ross shrugged. "Well that's not my job. But I'll tell the politicians." He looked at Sisko, thoughtfully. "You're being quite reasonable. What happened?"

Sisko was privately worried that the politicians would give all the wrong answers, and Bajor would never be a part of the Federation. He didn't want that to happen. Somehow, he could still find a hope of compromise.

But Starfleet had to trust him. He had to make sure they understood that Bajor could not be convinced by rhetoric. He didn't know who Ross worked for, but he had some sort of influence. Perhaps if he could convince Ross there might be a chance.

"I just gave it some thought. We've had a lot of people die in the last year. I'd like to think they died for something."

Ross got very quiet. "I'll never forget how many people I've sent to their deaths. I don't want to see it all fall apart now that its end is in sight."

Ross understood. There was more to it, but Ross would accept that as a good enough reason. If he was lucky he'd make his own people listen. For Ben Sisko knew that in the end if it didn't work, he would still stand with Bajor.

o0o

The sound of Sisko's movements was playing in the background almost as if it was music. Bashir was only occasionally paying attention. The Captain had arrived in his quarters apparently calm, though the reading betrayed the turmoil inside him. It was only when he was alone, or believed he was, that he'd started to pace. It was the only outward sign of his internal distress. Bashir knew he'd been contacted by someone high in the Federation-not Ross this time. He'd had messages from Bajor as well. He had been firm in his position, to everybody. But Bashir knew he'd decided.

Bashir had eaten his dinner before, and had been reading while Sisko paced. Finally Sisko gave up and collapsed into a chair. "Personal Log," he began.

Bashir looked up from his book. He picked up a padd he used for notes. Sisko began, "I talked to politicians today. The Federation representative wanted to know why this was occurring. I get the impression he's doing a little research. Maybe we'll hear more from him." Sisko paused, ordering a raktageno. Settled down again, he continued. "What got me is how confused he was. He honestly didn't understand." Sisko shook his head. "When did we start to delude ourselves into thinking we were gods? When did just asking a few questions become such a major dilemma." He took a long sip of his drink, and looked at the ceiling. "I get the impression that he is trying to find an answer, and he doesn't much like what he finds." Sisko finished his drink, and got another. "Maybe," he said philosophically, "maybe Bajor was put here to save us from ourselves."

Bashir had put down his book and was listening. Sisko was so calm, too calm. Despite his use of the word "we" he had made up his mind. He only wished his own choices were as simple.

But Sisko was not spared the confusion. He sat again, with a newly filled cup, and his expression grew troubled. "Then there was the Bajoran minister. He doesn't understand either. It does no good to try to explain that this is unheard of. He thinks the Federation is stalling because the concerns are true, because they *have* no answers." Sisko took several long sips of his raktageno. "I wish, I just wish, I could get them to talk to each other. Perhaps I should," he said with much thought. "I wonder if they would balk ... "

Sisko was silent while he finished his cup, and got a third. This time he drank half of it before saying another word. "I didn't need this, not Friday. There weren't as many names. But they are still dying. Fleet says we may see more resistance towards the end, more dead than before. What happens to, to us, when the survivors come home and they don't see the illusion anymore?" He finished his drink, this time leaving it on the table. "Maybe then we can answer those questions, but I'm afraid it will be too late."

He looked at the cup and reached for it, putting it back. "End personal log," he said. He moved to another chair, picking up the cup. Bashir didn't bother to find out what he filled it with. He just turned off the monitor.

o0o

Garak was half-way done with the suit, and looked around his shop to find something else to do. He'd already gotten their information, and had indeed taken care with how he obtained it. He had expected it to be sensitive background. But it concerned certain dangerous background elements on the Bajoran's who had sponsored the petition. They were going to try to turn one or more of them-to change their minds. Garak understood this sort of thing. But why were they going to this much trouble over what was quite typical a pattern for the Bajorans?

He'd gone along to find out what *they* were up to, and now had a pretty good idea. He still wasn't sure where Bashir fit in, but he was certain it had to do with Sisko. The doctor's whole attitude toward the man had changed.

And if Sisko was Bashir's assignment, it made sense. The Prophets had destroyed an invading army, and altered the course of the war. But they had not done it for the Federation, or the Klingons, or any other of their allies. They had done it simply to protect Bajor.

There had been no traffic through the wormhole since then. Bajor and the station was a repair stop on the way to the front. Still, Garak understood power. Bajor had not lost any of its importance. It had, indeed, gained a special value to all the allies who would begin to distrust each other as soon as the Dominion and Cardassia were under control.

The Prophets would protect Bajor. Anyone who stood as an ally would benefit from that protection. In the Alpha quadrant the war would leave behind a legacy of confusion and instability, and possibly more wars. No one could guess what might come of the gamma quadrant. But should a new invader emerge, being Bajor's friend would be very important-even important enough to break all the rules to insure.

o0o

Bashir took his time, studying the notes he'd made before beginning his log. Sisko had used the word "we" in regards to the Federation, but despite the frustration there had been little stress. If Federation politicians failed completely, and Bajor rejected membership, Sisko would be more concerned with Bajor than the Federation. He wanted it to work, but if it didn't he would find a way to manage.

But Sisko was still vulnerable. What happened later would matter to Sisko, but for then it was a distant event. What mattered now, even as he was monopolized by preparations for the future, was the war. He still posted a list every Friday. The names had stayed real. It was a nightmare shared with many others, but one which Sloan could easily make use of.

For a long time he looked at the padd, wondering how to handle it. Then he erased it. There would be no evidence left of what had been said. He retrieved the other padd, and let it scan his finger before it opened the file. He keyed in the date and his identification code, and pushed everything away.

The words were dry and clinical. Sisko was always referred to as the "subject". He briefly summarized Sisko's concern that the Federation would fail to take it seriously and things would go wrong. He even mentioned Sisko's idea, in passing, of a face to face meeting between the politicians. "Recommendation is made that this be encouraged in some way." He paused, hoping it helped. Sisko might not like the method, but he'd appreciate the results.

Taking a deep breath, he got to the hard part. In case they were tapping into the device, he had to explain the stress. He stated that Sisko remained loyal the Federation, and believed that Bajor should be a part of it, but that his influence was limited. Sisko's understanding of Bajoran's reactions should also be respected. He gave the Captain a chance to pull off his game.

Perhaps, if Sisko could do it so could he. He still didn't know what to do, except he wanted out. But they would leave him with nothing. Sisko was just as trapped, but at least he had something to believe in. In the end, should the illusion fail, Sisko would still have a home. He'd already lost his.

Wording it carefully, he cautioned that Sisko found the endless questions intruded on his daily duties, for his primary concern was with the war. Sisko believed priorities were out of line. Bashir recommended, very cautiously, that they back off. Sisko had handled it well, but the strain was growing. It was most important that he continue to act with the care and moderation.

He closed the log, and inserted it into the device that transmitted it. But he was worried. He hoped he had not alerted Sloan to Sisko's distress over the war, and its ultimate costs. Should anyone tap into Sisko's deep seeded guilt, he would be theirs.

o0o

A little over a week since his last brief visit, Garak contact arrived for his suit. Garak was more cautious than normal, but the man didn't notice. He took the suit and went to a dressing room to try it on. A few minutes later he called in Garak. There was an odd *feeling* in the room.

"As I said, you are a wonderful tailor. And your information is very good." The man didn't smile. He was as cold as he'd been before.

"It wasn't easy to get," he said.

He handed the padd back to Garak. "This is slightly different, but also very sensitive. We need it as soon as you get it. Procedures are on the padd for this one."

Garak found that he liked the fake banter better. At least it sounded like he had a way out. But he tucked the padd into some supplies without comment. Instead he studied the suit. "It fits perfectly," he said.

"Yes, and I'll wear it," said his visitor in a more conversational tone as the odd feeling went away.

Garak gathered up his other clothes, and packing them hoped to find some clue. But they were just clothes. He handed them to the man outside, as he was admiring the new suit.

"Will you be ordering more suits?" asked Garak.

"I just might," said the man, but he didn't bother to smile. "I'll let you know."

Garak didn't follow him out. He never wanted to see him again. There had been no pretending this time, just business and orders. The abrupt change disturbed Garak. It reminded him too much of the change in Bashir. These men had taken away his only friend, and turned him into nothing. It was galling that he'd fallen into their trap as well.

He had to find a way out. It wasn't that he couldn't do what was asked, but that he didn't want to. He didn't want to save the Federation. They must have known, but would use him anyway.

Or, he corrected himself, he would allow them to. Using Quark's device, he'd tapped into Sisko's private log. But someone already had. Bashir was staying in his quarters later, only showing up at Quark's late in the evening. Since then he'd started looking at Sisko with what Garak would almost call understanding. It wasn't certain, but he was sure enough to take a chance.

Later that night, in his own quarters, he reread the padd Quark had given him. Sisko would be devastated by the news. If there was anything of the man he'd known left, Bashir would blame Sisko for his part, this time there being nothing to forgive. Whatever reports he was sending would be influenced by his bitterness, especially if he kept it to himself.

They believed Sisko to be a key man in relations with Bajor, and would do whatever was necessary to keep him on their side. He was certain that Sisko would not enjoy it. All they would do was push him away. Their plan would fail, and it would take the thief with it. It might take Bashir too, he noted to himself. But they'd already done that.

And while the pieces were falling apart, Garak would find a way to slip in the darkness and away.

End, Part 2, Chapter 10


	11. Part 3 Chapter 11

Destinies, Part 3

Paying the Piper

A sequal to Seduction and Shadowdance

Part 3 - Endings and Beginnings

Chapter 11

For any who watched, Julian Bashir was behaving, doing the job he had been given. He watched Sisko. He kept the monitor on for long enough to satisfy whoever was keeping tabs on him. He had already determined the feed didn't go beyond his quarters, and most of the time when he could observe, Sisko spent reading a book. The captain had a lot of visitors from Bajor, but he was secretly pleased that his suggestion of giving the man room had gotten through. Ross had kept away, and except for a perfunctory question now and then, Starfleet had left him alone.

After a month of watching, he no longer saw anything unusual about his activities. He still occasionally went to Vic's, but spent most of his off duty time by himself. He felt as if he had little in common with the others anymore. For their part they left him alone. Miles had found someone else to play darts with.

He had come to admire Sisko. He still could not quite excuse the order to join Section 31, but it was done. Sisko had enough problems of his own. Starfleet had stopped pushing, but the Bajoran's hadn't. He had not taken any position on the matter. In typical Bajoran fashion, the arguments had split into distinct factions and all of them wanted Sisko on their side.

For himself, the decision was done. Perhaps if he'd acted earlier he might have found a way out, but he'd waited too long. He'd gotten used to it. His carefully worded reports went unquestioned. Perhaps in his own way he was helping.

Some day, he knew, they would ask much more. He would have to make some sort of decision then. But he understood the way it worked now. The killing of the agent had been an initiation designed to break him, and taking Garak through the ordeal on Zas'sanna had been the proof it had worked. He hadn't even talked to Garak since the time after the hearing.

It had been a difficult decision to draw Garak into the test. He'd miscalculated with the safties, but it would have been the same. He had betrayed Garak, with or without safties. It had cost him a friend, along with the rest of his life.

He wondered, now and then, if it would be easier now. Then, only his certainty that Garak would pass had allowed him to go through with it. He could not remember the man who had made that decision anymore. He belonged to them now, no matter what he told himself.

This evening, Sisko had decided to be a chef. He'd replicated a counter full of ingredients, and Bashir had watched as he created a masterpiece. He'd ask the replicator for the same dish, but when Kassidy arrived he'd turned it off. Both men knew what it meant to be caught between two opposite interests, but Sisko was lucky. He had his son, and Kassidy. Bashir had no one. He identified too much with Sisko to want to be reminded of his isolation, and couldn't watch. It would hurt too much.

He finished his meal in private, remembering the dinner parties Sisko used to give. He no longer did that. He was friendly with his top command, but there was a distance there hadn't been before. Bashir didn't belong to this place anymore. But then, neither did Sisko. He let that be his solace as he ate the last few bites and gathered a stack of latinum to get Vic to himself.

o0o

Garak had a stack of padds before him and three outfits to do. He'd gotten behind. Starfleet was sending more, and the two he'd received last were marked urgent. He worked on them first. The other had been delivered by a grim looking visitor who'd ordered a suit. It was always the same suit, like the one he'd made for his original contact. This man would be back in a week, and there had been a hint of threat in his tone. Garak remembered when no one would have dared threaten him. But now was different. He still didn't know who he was dealing with. This was the third suit since that first one. Each had been a different customer. They wore humorless expressions, and showed no sign of emotion at all. They were perfect agents, he realized, people no one would remember. He was ever more certain he did not want to work with them. He had been a professional, practical and loyal, and very good at what he did. But he didn't think he'd been as cold. Tain had been that way. Perhaps that was why he'd ended up here, he mused, as he laid aside the padd he was decoding.

He was not having much success with his plan to escape. He knew what he had to do. The trick was passing the information to Sisko at the right time, without it being traced to him. He was leery of tapping into Sisko's communications, especially since his discovery that someone else already had. It must not get back to *them* that they were being betrayed. He had kept tabs on what happened to some of the people on whom he'd given information.

One had been a middle aged Bajoran, active in the resistance, who had pushed for ending negotiations with the Federation. He wanted no part of their joining. But once, when he was younger, he'd killed someone believed to be a traitor. If the boy had betrayed them or not no longer mattered. One of the chief sponsors of the petition was the boy's grandfather, and he believed the boy had died at Cardassian hands. That mattered a great deal.

A week after Garak had passed on the information, the man was found dead. He had been executed in the same manner the resistance had killed its traitors. Garak believed his murderer had been manipulated into the act, for there had been no compromise on his victim's radical point of view. It had caused quite a stir. Garak was quite sure he'd meet a similar fate, in whatever manner these people used to execute those who betrayed them. If they caught him after he had completed his revenge didn't matter as much. But he was taking even greater care than normal not to slip.

But he was near. Sisko would receive a very secret transmission from Starfleet intelligence, a report concerning the fate of the biomemetic gel. The Dominion had used it against two more targets since Quark had passed on the information. Sisko would be devastated. He hoped it would still effect Bashir. He still watched, but sometimes the doctor reminded him of the grim faced robots who ordered suits more than the man he'd known.

o0o

It was a Friday, and Ben Sisko had hated Fridays. It was bad enough that the murder of the Bajoran was still fresh in everyone's mind, and they all distrusted each other. But the war had heated up again, as wars would, just when it looked to be nearly over. This time Ross had not said a word about the Bajorans. He'd been all business. They would be moving more ships and more supplies through DS9, and the logistics had to be in place before they arrived. Sisko had almost forgotten about the petition for a little while.

The Cardassians were fighting hard, small rebellions breaking out here and there, while still resisting the Federation and its allies. But rebellions would not spare Cardassia from the vengeance of the victors. Even if Damar himself switched sides it wouldn't help, and the Cardassian's knew it. Nobody was deluding themselves about the cost of taking Cardassia, but they would succeed no matter how high it was. With the Jem'Hadar continuing to be bred in record numbers, and the desperation of the Cardassians, that cost would be very dear.

The war had slowed-almost paused-for a time. But a week ago, Friday's posting of names had been twice as long as the previous week. This Friday it had doubled again. Ross had mentioned, in passing, the thought that perhaps Bajor could contribute some troops for the end. He thought that perhaps some might find the chance to invade Cardassia quite pleasing. Sisko was to propose it. He was almost certain that it would be accepted. The darkness would touch everyone, alter their lives and futures. He had told only Kira, but she agreed. She had surprised him. He was so tired of the names that it would be enough to have it over. He didn't want anything more. But everyone else was out to get their revenge. Why not Bajor? He wondered if that was all that was left to take.

o0o

Elim Garak looked at the padd, wearing a grim smile. He was ready. He'd established a patch into Sisko's secure communications. As far as Sisko was concerned, the document came from Starfleet Intelligence. As soon as it was sent, the patch would disappear.

Staring at the padd, he considered the irony of it. Sisko had pushed Bashir into joining them, and instead of the doctor spying for him he was instead spying on Sisko. Garak was sure Sisko had somehow intended to expose them. He was sure the good Captain would appreciate Garak's betrayal, had he not been one of the targets. In a way Sisko was getting his desire. It just wasn't going to turn out quite the way he had planned.

He loaded the file, now correctly encoded, and sent it. It would bear a false transmission time, accounting for the normal lag in reception. But only the most careful examination would reveal any oddities. He was sure, once the subject was revealed, that Sisko would want no one to see it.

He'd updated it with the most recent information he could find. Sisko would find out just how high the cost of Romulan participation had been. And he would have to keep it quiet.

Even if Bashir had given up caring he'd get Sisko. Bashir would have to note the growing instability. Bashir's employers would take it from there. They would push Sisko too far. He knew the captain. He would simply react, as he had after the holosuite disaster. They would fail, and failure carried a high price. Those who had stolen his friend would pay.

Garak wanted to escape them. Perhaps he would have that chance. But should that not be possible, he would still be satisfied.

o0o

It was early evening, and Bashir was puzzled over the readings on his bio-monitor. Sisko was deeply distressed. The odd part was there was nothing to account for it. It wasn't Friday. There had been no bad reports of losses that day. Even the Bajoran problem was stalled in political bickering, as Bajor planned to send some of its own to help dismantle Cardassia. Evidently, they were getting plenty of willing volunteers and the other issues were being left for later.

But Sisko was in deep emotional turmoil. Bashir had abandoned his usual pursuits and come to watch the monitor. Usually there was noting of note to keep his attention. But tonight it was very different.

Sisko was drinking, something from a dark bottle. He'd eaten alone, rather early, and the remains of his half-finished meal were still sitting on the table. The first few drinks had been with dinner, but he'd kept on drinking. He was already drunk when Bashir started watching. Sisko stared at the table, looking at a small padd he had just picked up. Suddenly he slammed it down, throwing it on the floor. He took a large gulp, spilling the drink on himself and the chair. He slowly lowered the bottle and stood up. Kicking the padd out of the way, he started to pace. "I know I said I would live with it," he said, "but I don't know how anymore."

Julian decided not to go to Quarks tonight. Sisko picked up the bottle, and drank directly from it. He wasn't gulping anymore, but consuming more as he paced around the room.

"Computer, open personal log," said the drunk Captain. "Stardate, whatever," he mumbled. "It's been, what?, since the Romulans came in," he muttered to himself. "I thought it would get easier. It just doesn't. That Romulan, I'm sure the rest of those on board didn't want to die. Damn Garak." More sloshing, and desperate gulps from the bottle followed. He started again. "All those people he blew up just to get the senator."

Bashir stared at the wall. He knew Garak would do that kind of thing. Once, he hadn't wanted to know, but that time was past. He had no illusions about the Cardassian now. But Sisko had been in on this scheme. For the man he had despised to be a part of this would not have surprised him, but his view of Sisko had changed. The man knew better, or at least the man Bashir thought he saw should have. He watched as Sisko finished the bottle and opened another, then nearly tripped over a chair and stopped pacing. He retrieved his drink and went back to mumbling.

"And that gel. I can't even confront Garak. He didn't know. Nobody knew. But I do now." He drank a little more, his tone softer. "If Bashir discovers what happened, I don't know ... " He broke down. "He didn't want to. I made him. And now, all those people." Sisko stopped muttering and drinking and spent the rest of the evening staring at the monitor, occasionally wiping away tears. Bashir had never seen him look so lost.

Bashir sat, stunned, looking at the monitor. He didn't know what had become of the gel, but whatever it took he would find out. He didn't turn it off, just sat and stared at Sisko, appalled. Sometime before he fell asleep, Sisko remembered the log and had the computer erase it. But the damage had been done. Bashir had to know, and if it took all of Sloan's little devices he would succeed. And no one, especially not Benjamin Sisko, would be allowed to get in the way.

o0o

Sisko had said little all day. He had come into his office early, and worked on reports without comment. He had returned to his quarters for lunch. He couldn't face conversation. It was too loud anyway, and he didn't have much of an appetite. He put up with the hangover rather than let it show.

Early in the afternoon, he'd had to talk to a couple of Bajoran officials. The first one had wanted to discuss the Federation. He had politely and formally been sent away. The second was coordinating the Bajoran force joining the allies in taking Cardassia. He couldn't avoid that discussion.

"I've had a good response," said the Bajoran general. Sisko remembered that this particular general had chosen to have nothing to do with the petition.

Sisko nodded, "Starfleet should be pleased," he said quietly. But it still sounded too loud.

"It's ironic, I suppose," said the General. "Some of the same people who worry the Federation will ruin our culture are the most enthusiastic about joining their attack."

"I think I'd rather be us right now than Cardassia," mused Sisko quietly.

"Yes." He paused, looking at Sisko. "Is something wrong?"

"No, just too many names. Tomorrow will be another list." Sisko thought about the padd and his expression turned very grim.

"I wonder," said the general. "When your list contains our names too, will it make a difference? Or will they forget?"

Sisko thought of the padd again. He couldn't deal with all of it. Ross had mentioned the need to keep pace with the Romulans. "I wish it were that simple," he said. "Right now, all I can handle is today."

The general nodded with understanding. "I know. I remember. I'd hoped not to be reminded of it quite so soon."

o0o

Garak watched his visitor leave, carrying the suit. He'd handed the tailor two new padds this time. Nothing had been said about a new order, but he was sure there would be one. But he didn't mind so much anymore. The seed had been sown. He wondered how soon the results would start to show.

Bashir had kept to himself in the last few days. But it wasn't much of a change. Garak had decided to risk tapping into Sisko's logs. Sisko had been a little more withdrawn than normal, but the new events in the war could well be responsible. He was certain his plan would work. If Sisko hadn't been affected enough, he'd have to make sure a few more reports found their way to the captain.

There was risk. The people watching Sisko might well discover the intrusion. But it was necessary. Both Sisko and Bashir hid things too well. The moments they hid from view mattered much more than the facade.

It was the vital part of the plan. Sisko would not suspect, were he to maintain a proper enough facade, how much danger he was in. It would give his reactions just that much more power at the end. And while Garak was certain that his plan would work, he was still uncertain how it would come about. He didn't dare alert Bashir. Even with Quark's device, he couldn't risk it. He would simply have to hope that Bashir had not been completely lost. He chose to ignore that his revenge might destroy all that was left.

o0o

Julian Bashir had believed he was losing his ability to feel. Even during the day, being a doctor, he felt the distance. He had already separated himself from the life on the station. He kept to himself, but people got used to it and nobody really noticed.

But the last few days had been different. The ghost of that gel followed him all day, and he'd eaten his lunch in his office. He'd used the audio monitor for the first time, but it had showed him nothing. He'd been very quiet all day, and one of the nurses had asked him if he was all right.

"I'm just tired, long night," he'd said. That part was true at least. He'd lain awake most of the night, haunted by the legacy of that gel. He knew it had been used for a weapon, probably biological. And it had killed. Sisko had forced him to release it. He didn't know why, but would discover that in time.

He had turned on the monitor immediately when he arrived. But Sisko wasn't there. He kept it on, watching, until he actually entered his quarters.

He was carrying a bottle. He didn't eat any dinner. He just started drinking.

Someone had found a way to break him. Bashir wondered who, but didn't care. Because Sisko had made him release the gel. Because he still remembered signing the order for it to be packaged wondering if he should obey it. Because he could have stopped it. Because people were dead. Because now he had more blood on his hands, except this time it was Sisko's fault.

o0o

It was another Friday. It had been a week since Sisko had learned about the gel, and as he posted the list he wondered if selling his self-respect had been worth it. He'd had plenty of time to think about the ramifications. The disease they created had been used to take a planet, with hardly any need for the Jem'Hadar. It had been used to crush a resistance movement, and just the threat to have another sold to the occupiers.

There had been rumors that the Founders were ill. Sisko wondered if they were like the solids they despised. Would they take revenge in kind? Had the Romulan's joining the war simply altered the means to an end already written in fate?

It was a very long list, and there were a number of Bajorans on it this time. Many Bajorans were waiting to look, wearing the same guarded expressions the Starfleet people had for weeks. He stepped back, just watching.

Miles came in, Ezri training after him. He could tell from their faces that the news was bad. They paused near him. "A couple of friends, from my old ship," she said softly. "I dated one of them."

Miles looked gloomy. "I noticed an old friend." He looked up as Bashir entered the room. His expression became darker. "I don't have new friends," he muttered.

Sisko watched as Bashir entered, walking past O'Brien and Dax as if they weren't there. He studied the names for a few minutes and paused on his way out. Sisko noticed the way Bashir glanced at him, just briefly. His expression was unreadable, but Sisko wished he'd leave. He moved along a little, pausing near the door, just looking at the crowd.

O'Brien and Dax were watching him. O'Brien had said nothing. Ezri said softly, "I miss him." She ruffled her hair with her hand. "It's harder to lose friends this way than on that list."

O'Brien gazed at the doctor for a second. "Yeah, right now having friends can be dangerous."

Sisko watched as they walked past him, neither noticing the other. Bashir looked up one more time, and this time the look was unmistakable. It wasn't the cold look he'd worn before, but one of barely contained anger. Perhaps O'Brien had seen it too.

o0o

Garak watched Sisko's face as he left his disjointed log. Parts of it were missing or unreadable, but there was enough. That morning he had posted the "list". There had been so many more names. He had known a few of them, and it made them all real.

Garak noted that he was drinking. He had had quite a bit already. He sat for a while, and regarded the stars. He was quiet after that, sipping the drink slowly. "I just can't help but wonder when we'll have other names," he said softly. "From epidemics this time. Or would we be in Dominion hands already without the Romulans? I wish there was an answer."

He got up, walking slowly around the room. Garak could see his face quite clearly. "And then there is Bashir. That look he gave me today was chilling. So much anger there ... "

The feed grew fuzzy, and he lost the sound. But it was enough. He knew. Bashir had taken the bait. It was time to withdraw, smile at his various customers and compatriots, and let time do its work. He only hoped the sense of alarm would fade with it.

o0o

It hadn't taken Bashir long to discover what had become of the gel. It had gone to the Dominion. The biological weapon they had made had been used against several places already. It mutated as soon as it was absorbed into a body into a virus which would turn into an epidemic. So there was no way to treat it as changed each time it was used and was so deadly the victums were dead already before any treatment could be found or made.

So far it had been used in isolated places, but the secondary virus retained the ability to adapt. It had taken a lot of careful digging to find the small bit of research done so far, and he was sure it was just as secret since it was clearly not yet openly known.

He knew now that he should have refused the order. But even more fundamentally, Sisko should never have given it. He knew the danger in releasing the gel to an unknown party. He could not be excused just because he was suffering for it now.

He was not the same as Sloan. Sloan would never have questioned the need, never agonized over the results. Sisko was devastated. But he had made the decision to trade potential disaster for something dangerously unknown. And now he had to live with the knowledge, which he was handling badly. Perhaps, once Sloan had started that way, but one too many compromises had just made him cold.

He had to know why. He was sure there were no official records. It had something to do with the Romulans and an explosion on one of their ships. He could guess. But Sisko wasn't the only one who knew. Garak had been his partner in crime. This time he wanted to hear it from Garak.

o0o

Garak had been very busy. With the increased demands on his time from Starfleet, and his other employer, he was often in his shop late in the evening. That night, he was in the back, finishing up the decoding of an urgent padd for Starfleet. When he heard his visitor he stored the padd and walked into the shop.

He was astonished to see Bashir standing there. He noted the severe black dress, something the doctor had not worn for weeks. Garak understood how Sisko must have felt that day, when Bashir looked at him. Bashir was staring at him, and he could see the brewing anger that Sisko had mentioned. He grew very composed while inside every sense warned him of danger. He had once felt a trace of guilt about using him to destroy the others. But it vanished when he saw the look. This man resembled his friend, but all the rest was gone. That theft was the reason for this, he reminded himself.

He picked up a shirt off a display. "I'd like to try this on," he said. Garak watched as he went into the special dressing room, and despite his outer ease, still hesitated. His tone was as calm as Garak's but it held an enormous undercurrent of anger that worried the tailor.

But it would be worse to ignore him. Hesitantly, he entered the dressing room. Bashir was standing still, watching. He had brought something with him in a case. The shirt was on the floor.

He knew Bashir was fast and strong, even if he seldom showed his full potential. Before he could react, Bashir had come up behind him, and shoved him on the floor. His forehead resting on it, he felt Bashir's grip on his wrists. He tied something around them, too tight. Garak forced himself to be calm as his feet were shacked as well. He stayed where he was.

Bashir said suddenly, "Sit up."

Garak did as he was told, aware of the barely controlled rage in the voice. Bashir yanked him to his feet and shoved him against a wall. He carefully opened the case and removed the gun it contained. The Zas'sanna patrol had carried them. Bashir appeared to carefully load it. It was a chemical weapon. Odo's normal scan would not detect it unless it was fired. Garak could not help but to stare at it, something Bashir noticed. "I would appreciate if you'd explain. This is most undignified." Garak hoped it sounded reasonably normal.

"Quiet," said Bashir. Garak felt the room grow warm and his heart was pounding. Bashir picked up the gun and pointed it at his head. The doctor moved closer, until it was inches away from his eyes. Nothing was said. Abruptly it was removed and Garak relaxed a little. "Turn around and face the wall," snapped the doctor. Garak moved carefully, lest Bashir misinterpret something he did. He was breathing in shallow, quick breaths. He could not think straight. He didn't bother trying to pretend he was calm anymore.

"What do you want to know?" asked Garak with no bravado.

Bashir shoved the gun into his back, pushing him against the wall. From behind him, he heard Bashir's voice, his tone almost mocking. "Garak, you know why Sisko wanted the biomemetic gel."

Despite the gun and Bashir's tones, Garak thought this would work out well. He wanted Bashir to know. It would insure he would blame Sisko. "Yes," he said as softly as he could, trying to calm himself.

"Tell me," said the man with the gun.

Garak suddenly wondered if Bashir felt the same about him as he did about Sisko. The gun was moved to the back of his head. "It was in trade for a special device, one we had no other way to get." He tried to keep the edge of fear out of his voice.

"And what did you need this for," asked Bashir, now moving the gun to his temple.

Garak calmed his breathing. "To prove to the Romulans that the Dominion was going to turn on them."

"I see," said Bashir, pulling Garak closer. "And did they believe it?"

Garak was nervous, for Bashir had not moved the gun. If anything he was holding it more steadily. "No," he whispered.

Bashir stood still for a moment, loosening his hold by a fraction. "They still switched sides. Why? You killed someone, and let the Jem'Hadar take the blame."

Garak was growing more concerned. Bashir had the whole story now. He was still pointing the gun at him. "The Romulans believed, that's what mattered," he whispered.

"True," said Bashir, his hand still quite steady. "It had to have been your idea."

"The details," said Garak steadily. "But Sisko came to me with the idea. He could have stopped it at any time. But he didn't. He could have refused to order you to sign over the gel, but he didn't. He wanted it to work."

Bashir did not release him, but pulled back the gun a little. "He's paying for it now." He pulled Garak closer. "How did Sisko learn about the gel? Nobody in Intelligence has told him."

Garak wondered if Bashir would blame him as well. "Perhaps the report was sent by mistake," he said.

For an eternity, the doctor held the gun still and said nothing. Garak told himself he would be all right. If he was going to use it he would have already. Bashir had gotten what he wanted. He didn't dare leave any mysteries. Then he shoved it hard against his temple. "Don't forget," said Bashir, and Garak heard it fire. He collapsed and landed on the floor. He looked up as Bashir dropped a key by his feet, and a small blade in the Cardassian's hand. "You should be able to cut yourself loose with this. Don't hurt yourself."

His tone had been mocking, as if he was amused. Garak didn't move until he was gone. He positioned the small knife to cut the cord, and eventually freed himself with only a small cut, which he treated himself. He had to finish the padd, but couldn't concentrate. All he could think of was the certainty that he was going to die when the gun had fired.

o0o

End, Part 3, Chapter 11


	12. Part 3 Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Sisko arrived late that day at his office, already depressed. Kassidy had left again, all business and efficiency. He had tried taking her name from the rotation of pilots flying supplies, but she had made it quite plain she wasn't happy. He wanted her safe, and it was a dangerous job. He'd lost one wife that way, taking her into war, and didn't want to lose another. He hadn't asked her yet, but as soon as she returned he was going to take her to one of Quark's holosuites to watch a baseball game between the best players in the history of the game. And when it was done he would propose. It was the one bright spot in the dark shadows that surrounded him.

He tried not to compare her with Jennifer. It had been so different then. She had been a part of his life, but he had not needed to get used to hers. Kassidy didn't remind him of his first wife, as he had come to think of Jennifer. She had a full life of her own, and refused to allow him to protect her. When she was gone, he was almost afraid to look at the lists. He didn't know if he could stand finding her name on Friday's list.

He loved her. He'd come to understand, reluctantly, that part of that love was of her independence. He could not deny that to her, for it would be denying what made her so special. But that morning, watching her ship as it left dock and disappeared with the others, he was afraid. So many ships never came home. He knew it wasn't fair, but if anyone survived it had to be her. He could not stand his life without her.

He would have been content to sit alone in his office with noting but the stars to contemplate, but someone interrupted his solace and changed everything.

o0o

He stared at the padd Odo had given him, stunned by its implications. It fit, though. The doctor had recently gone from cold to the smoldering anger Sisko didn't understand. If he'd been listening that night, and other nights since, Bashir had every reason to feel that way. He gazed out the window, studying the Romulan ships docked at the station. Without them, they may well have already been defeated. But the legacy of that arrangement was leaving a trail of death and slavery behind, as the Dominion raised its new weapon against anyone who defied them. What would the ultimate price of their survival be, he wondered.

Someone had tripped an alarm, without leaving a trail to follow. Someone had been listening to his private thoughts, given only to a log he had the computer erase. He had no doubt that was not all that was watched and noted. His only refuge was gone.

Odo understood the delicacy of the situation. He had not said a word about the padd. But he was waiting for Sisko to suggest a better place. Sisko found his voice, and set the padd on his desk. "I'd like to see the area where you found this substance. That area hasn't been used since the ore processing was shut down."

Odo nodded, carefully looking around. "No, that section wasn't even repaired. If you'd like to go now, it should be safe enough."

"I don't have anything else pressing right now," he said. He didn't say it right. But his unseen observer would already know.

o0o

Standing in the half-dark corridor, with the ruins of machinery all around him, Sisko wondered how he could have missed it. Bashir had dangerous friends, and they had secret equipment that could follow him everywhere. With all the doubts Starfleet was having about him, he knew he should have been more careful. But the report had come as such a shock. He had not been able to keep away the grief and horror.

But all of that was changed now. He no longer had a personal life. He would not give them the satisfaction of having anything to see.

Odo had said nothing, watching as Sisko poked his way around the area looking for signs of recent disturbance. If there was anywhere on the station it was safe to talk, it was here. Finally, haltingly, he asked, "How bad?"

Odo was businesslike. "It appeared to be a momentary glitch. I have no doubt you are under surveillance. By whom is the question."

Sisko just nodded, wondering if he should tell Odo what he knew. He'd been keeping an eye on the doctor, but Bashir was very good at filling roles and Odo wasn't overly suspicious. "Yes, we need to be careful," said Sisko, unable to decide.

"You must continue to behave as you have before, and not tip them off. My report will conclude it was equipment failure. The trail to and from the spy is so complex it could take a long time to find. What I have in mind is a trap."

Sisko listened as Odo outlined his plan. It was a good plan. It just wasn't necessary. He already knew who was watching. Eventually, the Constable finished, studying Sisko as he stood in the dim light.

He turned to face the Constable, his face as hard as stone. "There will be no investigation," he said, his voice bitter.

Odo was frustrated, and allowed it to show. "Captain," he said patiently, "Since I have worked under Federation laws, the one thing I have been constantly reminded of is the right to privacy. You value this above security. You do not allow me to work as I might have because this violated personal rights. I have learned to manage. But now you are going to allow someone to break all the rules and get away with it. I do not understand."

Sisko watched Odo's face as he waited, aware he was not only annoyed but worried. It was his job and Sisko was denying him the right to do it. "You don't need to investigate," he said quietly. "I know who it is already."

Odo didn't like it. "And is it not desirable to *stop* this person?" he asked with disapproval.

Sisko wished it was that simple. At least with Bashir he knew who it was. If he forced the doctor to be replaced he'd never know. "He'll just be replaced with someone harder to find," said Sisko with resignation.

Odo watched for a few moments. "I see." His tone was acid. Sisko thought he had figured it out. "I'll have to keep an eye on this person, should I discover who it is."

Sisko was concerned. "If you do, be very careful. We wouldn't want there to be any fatal accidents around here."

Odo exchanged a look of unspoken understanding. It was the last that would be said of it. He looked away. "I see Kassidy left today. You'll miss her."

It hadn't hit Sisko until then. But the effect of Bashir's spying was worse than not having a free hand at recording his personal log. Bashir had, and still could *watch* as he had been with her. The conversations meant to be personal were compromised, and ruined. The few moments of his life when he could be himself had been stolen. His sense of violation was enormous. "Yes," he said bitterly, "I will."

He'd gone back to his office. He stood there, wondering if he was watching then. Perhaps he did all the time, the records noted in careful time frames. It had been comfortable before. Now it was another room he dared not relax. There were none of those places left, At least on the station.

His voice was under control as he called Kira. "Colonel, hold all but priority messages, and cancel all my appointments. I'd like some time." She acknowledged his order, and he looked out at the stars again. He would have to mind what he had to say from now on. He didn't dare write or say anything that could reflect the wrong impression. He could not retreat to his quarters and relax anymore. He couldn't talk out his worries with a log he erased.

And he couldn't have Kassidy. He still loved her, but he refused to have his personal life scrutinized by the doctor or his people. He would rather be alone. He could almost understand being watched in his office, even having his logs tapped. But he hated the man for what he'd done to his personal life. He needed her. He didn't know how he'd manage without her. He didn't know how to tell her to wait without telling her too much. He didn't know how he'd stand it until then.

His anger at the doctor was rising, and he could not deny it. Bashir would not get by with this. Abruptly, he stormed out of his office and past the surprised faces of his crew.

o0o

Bashir was busy with lab results when Sisko entered. He hadn't been in the Infirmary since the hearing, or had come in at night when someone else was there. He was surprised and looked up at the Captain as he made his way through the room, and entered the small lab without asking. He just stood there, staring at the doctor. The look in his eyes was almost a mirror of the anger that lived under Bashir's outer facade.

"Is there a reason for you to barge into my lab?" he asked Sisko.

Sisko stepped forward. Bashir remembered the look in his eyes the last time Sisko had confronted him here. That had been one of fear. This was anger and betrayal. "How dare you spy on my personal logs. How dare you invade my personal life. You have no right to do any of these things, no matter what your present superior believes. I will not stand for it."

Bashir just looked at him. "I would take care, Captain. You have no claim to moral superiority, not after your little arraignment with Garak." Sisko said nothing, but his anger did not dim.

"Nor did you have any 'right' to force me into my present position. The Bajorans may have made you a god, but you are just as weak a man as before."

Sisko backed away a little. "I'm not proud of what I did," he began, and then stopped. "But we are going to win the war."

"No, our military may win, but 'we' lost the day you and others like you decided to sell poison to the some unknown party without the slightest hesitation. Garak told me what he did, the lie that made your plan work. Your plan, not his. And you picked Garak knowing full well he'd do whatever was necessary to make it work while you could keep your hands clean. You are a pitiful, weak little man and I despise you." Bashir's voice was even but there was a hint of the passionate feelings underneath.

"I don't consider you or whoever you work for to be a part of this or any other civilized place anymore." Sisko's tone was intense, holding back nothing.

"I didn't say where I fit," said Bashir, bitterly. "You don't deserve to be the Emissary, or receive all this adulation. What do you say when this weapon you gave them is aimed at Earth, or Bajor, or Vulcan, or any other world? Did they use their prisoners to test and perfect it, so they could insure it kills a wide variety of species? Will it be used to revenge the founders? Have you just made the kind of death a little different?" Bashir sat the lab test he'd been holding in his hand on the table. He held up his hands before Sisko. "Can you see the blood *you* put there?"

Sisko backed away. "I didn't intend to do that," he said softly. "But I share it."

"Intent is not relevant. And you knew. You didn't know any details but you knew it would kill people in the end. No matter how you act, you are no more innocent than my ... superior is."

Sisko must have realized his mistake. He stepped back again, in active retreat. "You do know this can't be discussed," he said, very tired.

"Of course. Do you?" snapped Bashir.

"You might mention that to Garak," said Sisko, but softly, his tone hesitant.

"I just may," said Bashir, as Sisko retreated from the room in defeat.

o0o

Kira sighed as Odo wrapped his arms around her. She yawned. "I don't know why I'm so sleepy tonight," she said.

Odo shifted position as she rolled towards him. His look was still troubled, but they were satisfied that the shapeshifter would keep quiet. Odo's discovery had been unfortunate, but it had provided an unexpected chance to evaluate his loyalty and willingness to obey orders. Time was running out.

Odo would never know how much had been riding on his decision that day. His loyalty to the Alpha quadrant had been judged to be sincere. But his personal standards were unpredictable. In the absence of predictability, willingness to obey orders was important.

For Sisko, the slip in security had given his life a nightmarish quality. For Odo, it had given him life.

Kira had ingested a mild sedative with her last glass at Quarks, and she and Odo had retired early. There was no teasing that night, and nothing of interest to watch. He would hold her until she fell asleep and then sleep himself, usually still in his solid form, reverting to the amber goo sometime later, still beside her.

Unnoticed, as he was about to fall asleep, a device was activated that prevented his transformation. The man waiting in the shadows was patient. Odo must be fully asleep before he began.

The shapeshifter said quietly, "It has been a very difficult day."

Kira looked at him, studying his grim expression. "I won't ask," she said. "But I had to explain that the Captain was not available. I didn't tell them he was in his quarters and wouldn't respond to his combadge."

Odo said dryly, "He had his reasons."

She yawned again. "Tomorrow's going to be busy," she said, curling up comfortably at his side. She closed her eyes, the drug working faster as she relaxed. Odo held her close while she fell asleep.

But he did not. He was obviously troubled. The man in the shadows had second thoughts. His hand was on the device, ready to deactivate it, when the Constable whispered to himself, "I hope you know what you're doing, Captain." He caressed Kira's hair and smiled as she snuggled closer.

A short while later he was asleep. The man came forward, dressed in a dark grey uniform, with a small medical insignia on his collar. He was older, but fit, his wavy white hair cut neatly. He was holding a hypo. He pressed it against Odo's neck.

The device had been switched off. Odo twitched in pain. His body became amber and then reformed into his normal solid form. The stranger watched without reaction. "Well done, Constable," he said, as Odo once again relaxed, and pulled Kira closer to him, still asleep. The most he would remember was a bad dream.

The man did not immediately leave. It was an important moment, the epilogue of his masterpiece. He felt a moment of pity for the man who would soon be the last of his kind. He would destroy the hypo when he left, the single dose of cure made before its secret had been destroyed.

"Sleep well," he said, as he disappeared.

o0o

In the wake of the wars explosion, Bajor and its petition was often regarded as nearly forgotten. But not everyone had forgotten. The Bajoran's had not, especially with the losses they were suffering. And Section 31 had not. Bashir reported just as he had been assigned. Except the tone of his reports had changed, and with the security breach Sisko was now on his guard. And a few days after Sisko's visit to the infirmary, he found the bear had once again moved from its shelf.

This time he was awake and ready. But Sloan was nowhere to be seen. He was met by several unfamiliar men, and escorted to a small office.

The tall one opened the meeting immediately. "There has been a security breach. The changeling detected something."

He was very calm. "I'm aware of that. It wasn't ours."

"Do you have any idea who might have been looking?" asked the short one.

He paused. Garak's life was in his hands. He could betray the man and he'd be punished, the results possibly fatal. Or he could lie and spare him. He was still unsure why Garak had done it, but he believed Garak to be very useful. And he had cooperated. "I believe it was probably Quark, or the like. He's been known to snoop now and then."

"The Ferengi? Possibly." The short one was studying a padd. "He deals in various extra-legal substances from time to time. I'm sure he has his ways."

Bashir thought to himself that Garak owed him. He wasn't sure how that would work. But he would have to remind the Cardassian.

The tall one said, quite concerned, "Sisko has been tipped off. We'll have to alter a few methods but I think we can get around it."

"It's being handled," said the short one.

"Sisko hasn't had much to say in his logs lately. He's been keeping them rather formal." Bashir didn't mention the drinking, though Sisko hadn't done much of that of late.

"Actually, we need to discuss the matter. Up until recently, Captain Sisko has come across as rather reasonable. It's just since the war erupted again that you raise some doubt about his stability." The short one again consulted his padd.

Bashir was surprised. He wasn't aware his ideas had changed. But then Sisko had become obsessed over the war. Even without the other news that would account for a kind of instability. He didn't want to tell them about the other. He said with much thought, "It's the war, the way things have gone. I think all he really wants is to see it over. He isn't dealing with much else right now."

The short one consulted his padd again. "That is not unexpected. But we need more precise information. I'd like to see a lot more details in these reports."

Bashir realized that his reports were sent to this man. He choose his words very carefully. He must not sound like he'd tried to deceive them. "Perhaps a different approach will be necessary then. I don't have a lot of time to observe him."

The tall one nodded. "We hadn't anticipated the need for more. But I think you'll like the new arraignment. It will block any attempts like the Ferengi's as well. We'll discuss the details later."

The meeting went on, and Bashir watched his words very carefully. He was very professional. They wanted him to correlate the times of stress with causes. He wondered if they were designing a test for Sisko.

He would have to take care. They would not approve of his anger. He must keep it hidden from view. He wondered if the "new arrangement" included someone watching him much closer than before. Now that they had taken all he had, compromised the last meaningful part of his life beyond redemption, it didn't really matter much anymore.

o0o

Ben Sisko entered his quarters, wondering where they had hidden the device. He knew he would never find it, and if he did they would simply replace it. He should never have pushed Bashir into cooperating. Perhaps he would have died, but it might have been preferable to the man he'd become. Between his intelligence, his seething bitterness, and the tools he had available, Bashir had become the dangerous man Starfleet was afraid of.

Or, he corrected himself, Bashir had been molded into one. He didn't excuse his part in the process. Bashir might have had a fatal accident if he'd refused them, as Sisko knew he would have on his own. But Sisko had changed that. He had, in one unthinking moment, given the young doctor to them. They had turned him slowly, piece by piece. Bashir was still an excellent doctor, and his patients accepted his reserved manner. He wondered how long it would take before everything was gone.

But Ben Sisko would pay for that moment. Bashir could only have learned what he did if he'd been listening to that log, when the report had first come and he'd been overwhelmed. What else did the man know? And most worrisome, what did he want?

Life had changed for Sisko. He watched what he said no matter where he was. He read or listened to music when he went home at night. His logs were very brief and to the point. This had been home, but it had been stolen. It occurred to him that Bashir was taking revenge in kind.

But it wasn't just Bashir. These people operated on their own, but in the interests of the Federation. Ross had not mentioned Bajor in a while, but he knew they still wondered. Starfleet didn't entirely trust him. For now there was the war, and he was important. But eventually the war would end and they would want an answer.

He already knew what it was. He just wasn't ready to let anyone know. If he'd had any desire to stay with Starfleet it had disappeared in the last month, especially knowing he was being watched. He would help win the war, but then he wanted to go home.

No, he decided, Bashir's revenge was almost complete. In the end, he would have nowhere. Ben Sisko still had a home. It was all that kept him from giving up.

o0o

End, Part 3, Chapter 12


	13. Part 3 Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Garak looked at the two padds. There was no longer any pretense. This time he recognized the man, but he'd have known anyway. They were all the same, cold and official. These padds would be replaced with more. He knew they didn't trust him, not really, but made use of him just the same.

It was Friday, and after his contact had left, he decided to check the list. He didn't know many people, but was curious. He watched while Sisko entered and set up the list. Waiting in the back, he studied the Captain.

Sisko hated this duty. He completed his task each Friday with a combination of grief and honor, and it was no different this time. The list was very long, and a number of Bajorans were waiting to check for friends. Sisko usually waited around, watching the crowd. This time he did the same, watching the crowd with a lost expression. Someone made accidental eye contact, and the expression disappeared.

Garak watched with interest. Sisko had changed. He had always been controlled, but he'd become cautious. He chose his words carefully. He said nothing unless he had a reason. He glanced around each room he entered.

Sisko knew, or suspected, that he was being watched. He'd keep himself under control, and it would change things. But it would not prevent them. Garak moved forward, taking a quick look at the list. Miles and Dax had moved away, and he noticed how depressed they looked. Most people hurried away, but they moved towards the back of the room, near Sisko.

But Garak was distracted by the new visitor. Bashir entered, looking preoccupied, and studied the names. He didn't take long. Garak wondered why he bothered. He had pushed away all his friends. Bashir finished his review of the names, and made his way for the door.

Garak moved out of the way. He did not know the man who had held a gun to his head. He blended back in the crowd just watching people as they looked for names. Bashir had seen him, and glanced his way. But he left quickly. Garak waited long enough for Bashir to be out of sight, and escaped back to his shop. There were three dress orders to be filled. The padds could wait. He spent the afternoon sewing, wondering how long it would take for the nightmares to disappear.

o0o

Julian Bashir moved through his life as if it were a play, and he was an actor. None of it was real. He practiced medicine as if he was a doctor, but even that had taken on a slight air of unreality. He ate his meals alone, even if he went to the replimat. Once in a while he still went to see Vic, but there was no comfort to be found there either. He used the new devices he'd been given with clinical effiency. They recorded Sisko's activities during the day, within a time frame. If something had been stressful he could examine the event. If something had relaxed him he studied it as well. His reports were those of a professional with a patient. He never noticed that when asked for an interpretation it was no longer in Sisko's favor.

He knew the use they intended for his reports. But he was too tired to fight them. They'd stolen too much. He didn't belong to this place anymore, or these people. He had nothing but the events of the day to define his life.

Every Friday he looked at the list. He'd seen several names of people he knew. He wouldn't call them friends. He'd had few real friends in his life. But somewhere in him he was sorry they were gone. It was a little connection to his past they hadn't yet erased.

He noticed even Garak came to look at the names now. Everyone did. Mostly they came in groups, and when they left they offered each other support. They had lost so many friends that it didn't hurt as much, but they still felt. He envied them. He had buried all his feelings, even his horror over the gel. It didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered. His life was no longer his own, and he no longer cared what came of it.

Garak was avoiding him. He remembered how it had felt to threaten the Cardassian. He had been responsible for the gel too. It was a small measure of satisfaction that Garak had collapsed when he'd pretended to shoot. When he was done with his daily report on Sisko he felt relief, but didn't analyze it. He refused to acknowledge the satisfaction when he considered that Sisko might pay too. The psychological profile he was helping to write would make Zas'sanna simple by comparison.

He'd looked at the names, and surveyed the crowd. For a moment his gaze had lingered on Garak, but he wanted to leave. He wasn't welcome here. He looked and left, as he'd done other Fridays. For just a moment he'd shared with the others, but it had been so brief. Now it was over and the play went on. He only wished for the last page of the last act to come and it all to end.

o0o

Before he posted this Friday's list, Ben Sisko had carefully reviewed it. It was the longest list he'd ever posted. Everyone was hit hard, but for the first time there were a lot of Bajorans as well. One of them was a good friend.

The general had started out as someone he couldn't avoid, when they had arraigned the deployment of troops from Bajor in the attack on Cardassia. There had been many problems, and he and Sisko had had to work them out. Kira had sat in on many of the discussions, and all three had become friends. When the Jem'Hadar had destroyed his ship with no survivors it had hit both he and Kira very hard.

He had posted the list quickly, and only watched for a little while, staring at them with a lost, blank look. Kira had already seen it, but had come in with O'Brien and Dax. Both had gone away saddened. Kira had joined them as they turned to leave, each with their private loss.

He had been thinking of the man, his friend, as he watched the survivors of this terrible war. As the casualties mounted, revenge against the Cardassians wasn't nearly as satisfying. He and Sisko had shared their sorrows over spring wine one night, and he'd found a man much like himself.

The general had talked about the Starfleet people, and how they didn't look so odd to him anymore. They'd been tempered with the sorrows of too many losses. They'd been hardened by too much violence and sent their grief away quickly. He didn't think of them as strangers. He didn't think their perceptions were as unlike Bajor's as they once had been.

He was a lone voice in a wilderness of distrust. Yes, he'd said, Bajor will have to compromise. But it was time to join the world. The Federation would have to learn with what it had lived through as well. Perhaps Bajor could help.

People had listened. Not many, but it was a start. Now he was dead and only the separatists and nationalists had a voice. He feared for the future.

He had stayed away from the dispute, keeping his point of view open. The Federation had ignored the petition with the coming of the Cardassian invasion. Looking at the room full of devastated people, of all species and cultures, he decided it was time to act.

Someone had to speak out, take the general's place. He decided, in sudden, committed passion, that it would be Benjamin Sisko.

He would have to be careful. His watchers would be very curious. But he must try, for the sake of his friend and his home.

He would need an alley, someone who could quietly help. As Kira parted from Dax, the two sharing a moment of quiet, he touched the colonel on the shoulder.

She looked up, still preoccupied. "Could you come to my office? I'd like to talk about something."

o0o

Bashir reviewed the meeting for the third time, wondering what Sisko had in mind. They were discussing the Bajoran who'd served as commander of their troops, killed recently. He'd become friends with Sisko and Kira and they were reminiscing.

"He was our 'voice of reason'," she said. "We needed him."

Sisko didn't have much to say. He'd made personal references but kept away from politics entirely. But they had things to do, and she was about to leave when Sisko's tone had suddenly changed. "Nerys," he asked, "could you set up a few private contacts for me?"

There had been a look between them of understanding, and she had said, gently, "Of course."

He had reported it the next day, and the bear had been moved that evening. The meeting was quick, but urgent. He was to find out what contacts she'd made. He'd reviewed everything, but Sisko was careful. There was no sign of a record anywhere. He knew they would ask again and he needed some sort of answer.

Sisko had made a surprise visit to Bajor the day before, and gone back again today. But there had been no clue of what he'd done.

But he knew who could get the information. One of the shirts Garak had sold him had been damaged, and he brought it with him.

o0o

Garak was busy with a dress when Bashir arrived. He had avoided the doctor completely since the last visit. Bashir was still in his uniform, but carried a shirt. Garak came to meet him. "Is there something you need?" he asked, not really bothering to pretend anymore.

Bashir showed him the shirt. "It got torn. If you could repair it I'd appreciate it."

Garak took the shirt. "It should be relatively easy. I should still have the proper measurements."

But Bashir wasn't going to go away. Standing behind Garak, he moved toward the special dressing room. Garak was nervous, but didn't show it.

"You owe me," said Bashir flatly. "I didn't tell them or you'd be dead. They don't like the way Sisko is hiding."

"I have no idea what you mean," said Garak. It didn't sound very convincing even to himself.

Bashir didn't come near. "Don't try it again. They will find you and I won't protect you this time."

"I have no need to," said Garak, simply.

Bashir ignored him. "I need you to find out something for me," he said.

Garak was surprised. "Perhaps I could," he said carefully.

Bashir stared at him. "I know who you're working for. I know you have the contacts. I just need it kept quiet."

It was the first real admission that Bashir knew. Garak had no reason to go anywhere near Sisko. Should Bashir happen to "discover" it ... He looked at the doctor. He could hardly tell him from the grim faced men who brought the padds. "What do you need to know?" he asked.

"Who is Sisko meeting with on Bajor? And whatever else you can find out. I need it tomorrow." Bashir didn't raise his voice, or hint at a threat. But one existed none the less.

"Your shirt will be ready then," said Garak.

"Make sure of it," said Bashir flatly, and he left.

Garak would have it ready. He told himself it was to pay back Sisko.

o0o

"Everything's arraigned," said Kira. "You should be back tonight."

Sisko nodded, suppressing a little smile. He imagined whoever was watching was annoyed. In the last few weeks he had made a number of sudden unannounced trips to Bajor. Kira had made all the arraignments. He never discussed them while on the station, except in a private code they had created.

Making it a kind of game made it possible to live with it. The station had been home, but had ceased to feel that way. The out of the way places he went on Bajor made up for it. Bashir and his people had only accelerated the transformation of Benjamin Sisko from Starfleet officer to a man of Bajor.

The war continued to take its terrible toll. The allies were winning, but it was costing unprecedented numbers of lives. He still posted the list on Fridays, and the station had come to be notably quiet that day. He still remembered the lesson he'd learned during the siege at AR-7. Even those he didn't know were no longer just names. Someone mourned them. Children would grow up without knowing a parent, gone away forever. He still hated Fridays. But he had found a balance to all the death.

He had embraced his role as Emissary. Bajor, like everyone else, had been hard hit with the war's toll. The cost had been the fragile unity the petition had created. Someone needed to bring the opposing sides together. Someone had to make them see that in the end they shared the same goal. Someone had to keep Bajor strong enough that when the war did end, it could speak with a single voice. The general had tried. But the Emissary had the clout to make it work.

He made small, quiet trips when needed to put out fires. He used all the power he was granted by his position, and had become a central part of Bajoran politics. He knew Starfleet didn't like it. But that no longer mattered. What mattered was that he had something to belong to, and a way to counter the darkness that had filled his life before.

o0o

Garak looked up impatiently at the doctor. "You're late. I'm almost finished."

Bashir sounded almost normal. "We had an emergency, but I made it."

Garak wondered if he was pretending things were almost normal again. Bashir re-established their regular lunches several weeks before, when he'd supplied the doctor with information the first time. Garak only wished things were the same. "I can't stay for too long," said Garak. "I've got quite a lot of work to do." Starfleet had been back with three padds marked urgent. But then Bashir knew that.

Bashir was scanning the crowd. "I did enjoy the book. We'll discuss it next time, when we have more time."

It occurred to Garak that either he'd not read it at all or he'd changed too much. The last time he'd given the novel to Bashir he'd admitted complete confusion. "It is lesser known than the others, but many consider it a great novel in the Cardassian tradition."

Just then a group of people came into the Replimat, off-duty troops taking leave on DS9. They were an amalgam of Federation and allied species, and yet all of them wore the same sort of hard, tired look. Bashir said quietly, looking at them, "Or what was Cardassian tradition."

Garak thought he saw a hint of real feeling in the doctor. It occurred to him that these people didn't look much like the model Starfleet liked to promote either. But he didn't dwell on the comparison. "Yes," he said. "Quite true." He had to get back to work, and finish help dismantling what was left. He handed Bashir the padd. "This one is longer, but is said to be a little more uplifting. I haven't had time to finish the book you gave me," Garak lied. He'd read it again, just to see if there was some point he'd missed. That brief look in the doctor's eyes had given him hope that perhaps a little of the man who'd tried to explain with a book was still there.

Bashir took the padd, with a new Cardassian novel to read and the encrypted data on Sisko's activities he wanted. He was still looking at the off-duty people, sitting in a group by themselves. "When you're done, perhaps I'll read it again."

As Bashir made his way carefully and quietly through the crowd, Garak wondered which he identified with now-the hunter or the prey.

o0o

Friday had come again. There was a strange quiet even before the list was posted. The Dominion/Cardassian fleet had set a trap, and the death toll had been stunning.

The station was now the major supply route for everything from fresh bodies to new boxes of rations. The unused portions of the station, never finished by the Cardassians, were full of supplies. Bajor was the site of more warehouses. There were always people around, both leaving and arriving. A special medical unit had been set up for receiving overflows of casualties on the station, and the worse were sent to a hospital on Bajor.

The war had been distant for a long time. Now, it was making up for it.

Sisko posted the list, a crowd already waiting, and fled. He was so tired of the death and loss and silence. He yearned to go back to Bajor, even if it meant sitting for hours listening to two sides argue about points he would have once never even been able to define. But he came when called. No one had called to take him away from the misery.

He wished he could talk about it in his log. But he didn't dare. He had given Starfleet a brief explanation, but no details. After posting the list he retreated to his office and asked to be left alone. It wasn't really privacy, but it was the best he could get.

The last thing he wanted was to hear from Ross. He'd asked all communications be held. He was sitting silently in his office, watching the stars and he twirled his baseball, when the message came in.

The screen cleared, and Ross's face appeared. The procedure was wrong, he thought. "Ben, we need to talk," said the Admiral.

"I asked for communications to be held," said Sisko cautiously.

"This is a special secured line. What are you doing, Ben?"

Sisko watched him, curious, for a moment. He chose his words carefully. "I just posted the longest casualty list of the war, and most of the people on it are dead. I just needed some time."

Ross looked slightly perturbed. "That's not what I mean. Why are you going to Bajor so often?"

"I've been going to Bajor for seven years," said Sisko. "I haven't felt the need to explain myself. But if you must know, I'm trying to keep everybody happy so they'll continue to support the war. After today that's going to be a little harder."

"Everybody's lost a lot," said Ross.

"Bajor doesn't have a lot to lose. The Cardassians took most of it already," said Sisko, a little annoyed. "You want them to stay with the Federation. They'll need a stable government to do that. They'll listen to the Emissary."

Ross was watching him, "I hope this works. Be careful, Ben."

Sisko was tired and wanted to get away. He wondered if Ross was one of them, or if they were just using him. "It won't if you get in the way," he said.

Ross looked nervous. "I'm just the messenger," he said.

"You delivered your message," Sisko said with finality.

"Take care," said Ross as he faded. Sisko watched as the familiar background appeared. But the timing was off. It didn't come through the same sort of channels as his other messages.

He had a hunch. He decided to take a walk. On his way out, he spoke quietly to Kira. "Thank you for holding all my calls," he said.

"Certainly," she said. He was sure now.

He knew in a day or two someone would want his counsel. He wasn't entirely sure what he'd say if they asked if he trusted his own government anymore.

o0o

Garak had been ready to leave for dinner, ready to go home, when he entered. Bashir was tense, and pointed to the special dressing room. Curious, Garak followed.

Bashir wasted no time. "I was contacted. There is a meeting being arraigned on Bajor, and Sisko will be there. We are to work together."

Garak nodded thoughtfully. "This is official?"

"Yes," said Bashir. Garak wondered why he was so nervous. He was leaving something out. For a moment he hesitated. Bashir didn't have to say it, but both of them knew that he must have known. "You'll be sent some information after the meeting. It goes to me."

Garak realized that for once, Bashir wasn't putting up a front. The reality of the situation had sunk in, and he was trying to deal with it. "Lunch, then?" asked Garak.

"Yes," said Bashir. "That would be the best way." He saw something of the man he'd known. But time was growing short. He hoped a little of his friend would survive.

o0o

Ben Sisko was the last to arrive at the meeting. He had left the station at the last minute, taking a careful route. The meeting wasn't likely to remain secret, but the location might at least stay hidden for a time.

There were ten participants. Each had a special interest in the future of Bajor. Each had their own point of view. Later, they could argue membership in the Federation. But first there was a more pressing matter.

Sisko did not come as the commander of the station. He had left his uniform behind. He would not speak for the Federation today, even if he believed it should be supported.

Bajor had lost a lot of people in the war. There was worry that the cost of revenge was too high. A lot of people wanted out. Some of them mattered enough to make it happen.

Sisko had sat up half the night thinking of what to say. It looked like he was catching up on a mound of paperwork, but it had been a convenient excuse. He had to appeal to something they all shared.

Sisko said little at first. It was unnecessary as the others were more than willing to talk. He wanted them to all have their say first, in the hopes that they might listen to him once they were done.

While the arguments filled the room, nobody noticed the older Bajoran sitting near the center had put his hand in his pocket, feeling a slight tingle in his hand. The listening device was working. Glancing at the others, he took care that it continue to work. He was afraid of *them*.

For Jaro Sarre, it had been a slowly emerging nightmare. First, the report of an execution of a boy had come to him. The death had been years before, and he might have dismissed it except for the name. He had always believed his grandson had been killed by the Cardassians. But it had been a lie, carefully cultivated to save the executioner. He did not believe the boy was a traitor. He had been very careful that the execution of his murderer was done quietly.

But then *they* had returned. This time their news was more devastating. It was taken from the Cardassian archives left on Bajor when the invaders had run. It was proof that his grandson, the child of his only son, had sold his people to the Cardassians.

It had been seven years since they had run, but that was not long enough to forget. He would have killed the boy himself if it had been known. He owed these people a life, and would give his should he be discovered.

Then *they* had returned. They had a device he was to carry. It would record the entire meeting, and he was to stay within a certain distance of the Emissary if possible. He didn't ask for an explanation. He took the device, hoping that this would be enough to make them leave him alone. But he doubted it. They would return for more. He understood how power worked.

There was one other duty, and he did not understand it. He was to confront the Emissary, question his loyalties. He did not want to do it, but did not want to die either.

The arguments had died down. The Emissary had finally found enough quiet to make his speech. It was early afternoon, and the room was warm, the humidity growing uncomfortable. The door had been opened but the breeze didn't help much. This spring's crop of insects were taking refuge in the relative coolness of the room.

Benjamin Sisko began his speech. "I am honored to be here today. This place has become my home, and I will and have defended it with my life. I know there is much concern about the amount of loss we have suffered in these last few weeks, and I believe it to be a legitimate concern. Bajor cannot continue to lose those men and women who are needed to rebuild the society from Cardassian ruin."

The flies were buzzing. One of them bit the Emissary and he was distracted. The others were making it hard to listen. A tall, well dressed man stood. "Emissary, I believe we ought to retreat to the garden. Our visitors dislike the breeze."

"That is an excellent suggestion," said Sisko, and he picked up his notes and headed out the door.

Jaro hesitated. He had placed it at the center of the room, where it would be most useful. He had kept close enough to Sisko that the tingle never stopped. It would be obvious if he was to move the device. But he worried about the results more if he didn't.

He stood, moving toward the hidden device. He gazed up at the windows, apparently lost in thought when he tripped and fell. While he was picking himself off the ground he retrieved the small device and stuck it in his pocket, noticing the tingle was gone. He would have to see where Sisko chose to stand first before he planted it again.

They had all gone to the neatly arraigned garden, sitting on the benches scattered throughout. Sisko picked a spot near a small running stream, with a scattering of plants around him. He sat and waited for the rest to settle.

The Bajoran moved near the others, seeing no good place to drop the bug. He was careful, aware of the risk, but wasn't satisfied by the place it lodged. But it would have to do. He didn't dare move it now.

He ran his hand into his pocket, wondering, but found no tingle. He feigned discovering the bench was damp, and moved forward. The tingle was still gone. He remembered that it had to be started and was fumbling with it when the Emissary resumed his talk.

o0o

Sisko began, speaking softly. "I believe everyone here wants Bajor to stand strong and proud. Each of you has concerns, and these concerns shall not be forgotten. But each of you has a responsibility as well, to Bajor and its people. We agreed to work actively with the Federation and its allies in the closing days of this war. We cannot back away from our promise. In time, the war will end. Cardassia and the Dominion will be defeated and everything will change. Those standing with the victors will win. Those who retreat before it's over will find themselves left out when the spoils are divided."

He had their attention. One of the men, older than the rest, was fiddling with something in his hand, but Sisko wasn't distracted.

"I believe," he said, relieved to be past the hard part, "that Bajor can do a great deal for the Federation without the loss of so many. We can offer much more support than we do now, without losing our future. It is in this way that we must proceed if we are to make the biggest difference for *both* Bajor and the Federation."

o0o

Jaro had finally gotten a signal, taking care not to look too obvious. He pulled a small vial out of the pocket, holding it in his palm. He held it to his face to breath the vapors. The Emissary looked at him. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"I shall be fine," he said. He realized this was a good time to complete his assignment. "But I have a question."

The Emissary nodded, "Certainly," he said.

"Do you say these things as a Starfleet Captain, or as our Emissary? If we bring in more and more Federation entanglement in our culture, are we making it impossible to refuse when the time comes to choose?

o0o

Sisko was taken aback by the question. It was almost the same question Ross had asked him, and he didn't appreciate the reminder. He considered what to say, glad he didn't have the persistent worry of being misinterpreted. "I believe that Captain Sisko would say much the same as I have. But at the moment I do not represent the Federation. I want Bajor to show it follows through with its commitments. If we choose independence we must show we are strong and can be trusted. We will need to prove ourselves. Open cooperation-to the extent we are capable of providing-will stand us in good stead at the end when we choose which path to follow. But more importantly, backing down will only prove that we are the weak society the Cardassians always claimed."

He looked them over. The last part had hit home, he thought. He started to relax. It was a beautiful spring day, in a garden filled with flowers, and even the war seemed to fade a little for awhile.

o0o

Jaro felt better. He'd done his duty, and asked his question. He even liked the answer that was given. He hoped they would be satisfied. He put his vial back in his pocket, and didn't notice that the tingle was only intermittent at best.

o0o

End, Part 3, Chapter 13


	14. Part 3 Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Bashir had nothing to do that night. Sisko was away and he had no file to review, no analysis to make, no report to write. He had, instead, time to think.

He knew something bad would come of this. It had been written in the eyes of his contact, who had beamed into his quarters just long enough to give his message and leave. They didn't make contact like that unless it was very important. He was sure they knew he'd been using Garak for information. Apparently they didn't mind, although he was sure it would matter to someone later. He couldn't think about the future. He didn't want to know what it would cost him.

Instead of writing a report, he read back through the one's he'd already done. He wondered who had written them. They were so dry, so clinical, so cold. They were not about what had driven Sisko, but about what he'd reacted to. He knew they were accurate enough for Sloan's use. He knew Sisko would slip and they'd catch him in their web. He had no idea what become of Sisko when they were done.

He couldn't pretend anymore. He couldn't run. All he could do was hope it would end soon.

o0o

Everyone knew where Sisko had been. The grapevine did not include any details, but the meeting itself was no secret. Sisko attended to the stations business as if nothing at all had happened. No one mentioned the meeting around him, but everybody looked.

It was late in the day, and he had caught up with the necessary things. He needed company. He'd arraigned for lunch with Kassidy but she was busy. Jake had gone to cover some story for the Federation news service. He looked at his son's picture, and realized he was very proud of him. He had assumed that as the son of a Starfleet officer Jake would share his choices. For a long time, Jake had almost disappointed him. But now, looking at the path he had come to take, he appreciated his son more. He looked forward to taking his son to the sheltered valley he'd fallen in love with near the meeting area, and talking about the things they'd never had time for. Jake would be back in perhaps a week. He would make arrangements ahead to visit, lest he attract undue attention.

He still needed some conversation. Leaving his office, he stopped by Kira. "Have you had lunch?" he asked. "I'd like to review a few things from yesterday."

She nodded. "I'll be there," she said. He noted that the everyone near enough to hear was trying hard to pretend they weren't listening.

He had reviewed the things from the day he'd missed with Kira, and served their lunch. It was their usual arraignment when he'd been to Bajor. But somehow today it was different, everything was different.

She must have noticed. "You must have enjoyed yourself," she said.

He knew they were listening, and every word would be studied for some sort of meaning. But he didn't care. With the meeting done its location was hardly a secret anymore. "I took a walk at sunset around the valley," he said, dreamily. "It's so beautiful. How could there be such devastation and ugliness in one place, and not too far away, such beauty?"

"I've never been there," she said. "But I've heard about it."

"When he gets back, I want to take Jake there. I want him to understand." Sisko left all the rest unsaid.

Kira smiled. "In time, he will."

"I know. Do you know how upset I was when he said he didn't want to go into Starfleet? It was unthinkable. But I can see, now, how he would never fit. If I can learn, maybe he can too." Sisko sighed. It was as if a giant weight had been lifted. He was almost looking forward to Ross's next talk. So many things were clear now that had not been before.

Sitting in that garden, after all the talking was done, he'd come to realize that he was home, and he couldn't wait for the charade to end so he could stay.

o0o

Garak had had another visit from one of the faceless grim men, this time with several padds. He was to pass them on directly to Bashir. The visit had been brief. He had no interest in the contents and picked them up before leaving to meet the doctor for lunch.

Bashir was already there. He had gotten his food but didn't seem to have much of an appetite. Garak had the impression he was depressed. It was refreshing to see his friend had not gone as cold as the man who brought the padds.

He thought of the book. "I've nearly finished your book, if you'd like to read it again. In the meanwhile, I thought these might be of interest. They are rather long, but one follows the other."

Julian took the padds. Garak noticed that he didn't look at them. "I'll do my best," he said, and the Cardassian could hear how tired he was. "I think I'd like to try some much lighter reading, actually," he said, glancing at the padds.

The rest of the lunch was filled with meaningless small talk. But Garak knew it was nearly over, and suspected the doctor did as well. He hoped there would be another lunch, but did not make any plans. Everything depended on the actions of Benjamin Sisko now.

o0o

Julian Bashir sat in a small room staring at the bio-monitor. He didn't know where they had put Sisko, but it was obvious he was being put through some kind of personal hell. There had been no hint this time. Kukalaka had remained on the shelf. But one of Sloan's underlings had awakened him from his sleep that night.

The man had handed him a black uniform. "Get dressed, we need you," he'd said. Bashir, numb with the realization that they'd probably taken Sisko, dressed in a fog. He'd been beamed to the ship, and taken immediately to the room.

Sloan had been nowhere in sight. But his guide was informative. "We need to know if the stress level becomes life-threatening."

"What are you doing to him?" he'd asked.

"Just a test," said the man as he headed out the door.

Had someone been watching with his test, or Garak's?

It took over an hour. The physical effects of the psychological torment came in peaks and valleys, but never ended. He didn't try the door to see if it was locked. He didn't want to know. He couldn't stop what they were doing.

He didn't want to watch but there was nothing else to do. Then, quite suddenly, all the readings dropped to nothing. The program had ended. He watched with fascination, wondering what happened next. Sisko's slow, steady heartbeat seemed to fill the room.

Abruptly the door opened and his guide reappeared. "Time to go to work," he said.

Bashir followed him, concluding that even if the door had not been locked, he could not have found Sisko. He was escorted into an outer room of the medical section, and found Sloan waiting for him.

"He's still unconscious, but when he wakes up you can give him this. It's the same drug you were given."

'Not quite,' he thought. But then Sisko didn't need the viral suppressant they had given to him.

"He knows you, and that you work for us, so he won't see any new faces this way. When he's stabilized we'll send him home." Sloan wore that same odd little smile he had when Bashir had been released.

"So he passed," he said, almost to himself.

"Yes," said Sloan. "Despite your misleading profile. That will have to be discussed."

Bashir forgot the looming threat when he walked into the next room. Sisko lay on the biobed, his body limp. Bashir picked up his arm where it had fallen over the side and Sisko cringed.

He stared at the man in horror. He could not allow himself to think of how his reports had defined the inner Sisko. He checked the monitor and discovered Sisko was starting to wake.

He opened his eyes, trying to focus. He groaned and dropped his head back to the pillow.

Bashir gave him the drug. "This will help," he said, feeling a great emptiness.

Sisko fell into a relaxed sleep. He woke an hour later, gradually opening his eyes. They narrowed at the sight of Bashir standing there. "You ... " he said.

Bashir said nothing. Sisko was still in shock, though the physical effects had ebbed. He though of Sloan's threat and shivered a little.

He rechecked the readings. "It's time to go home, Captain," he said.

Sisko was staring at him, but he didn't think he was all that Sisko could see. The drug took a little while to work. "Just tell me why," said Sisko in a lost voice. "Or are you too much a coward to do that?" Something caught his attention, a figment of his nightmare come to be real.

Bashir remembered how Kukalaka had followed him until Sloan had sent him away. He walked out of the room slowly, forcing himself not to hurry. "He's ready," he told the guard.

He didn't know if Sloan was going to discuss his reports then or later, but felt the still unfamiliar tingle of their transporter, and found himself back in his own quarters again. Still wearing the black uniform, he picked up his bear, wishing he could remember what it meant to believe in something.

o0o

Sisko was in his quarters, apparently asleep. Bashir hadn't looked further. He couldn't bear to look. He couldn't stand the thought that his observations had made this possible.

He'd taken off the black uniform and carefully hung it up. He didn't want to. But he was used to hanging his clothes neatly. He looked at the outfits he'd put together to fake the uniform. He hung the real thing next to them.

The last time he'd worn one, Sloan had taken it back. He understood this time it was his to keep. They had stolen everything now, even his medical integrity. He wondered what sort of punishment he'd be given for his analysis being so faulty. He was afraid, but somehow he could not stop the thought that any punishment would be inadequate.

He dressed for bed. In a few hours, he'd have to get up and pretend again. Unable to sleep, he stared at the darkened walls.

A sound alerted him that Sisko had received a message. He ignored it. Staring at the shadows, he drifted into a brief, dreamless sleep ended too soon by the day.

o0o

Benjamin Sisko was not sleeping. His head ached, and he felt dizzy, but he could not close his eyes.

If he tried, the images came back to him. He'd checked the time and date in his quarters when his kidnappers had returned him. It had only been a few hours. But in his mind the time had been much greater. In his mind, the Dominion had not been stopped. They had taken the alpha quadrant. It was the nightmare that had pushed him to break every rule and compromise his own soul. He did not know how it worked, but it didn't matter. It had been too real. The images had mingled into a series of flashes, each moment too real to forget.

He remembered the way Garak had stared at him, without saying a word, when he'd come into the infirmary. And the way Bashir had been so sick he nearly died. He concluded it could have been worse. Physically he was fine. But that had been by their choice.

He wanted to talk to Garak, even Bashir, and ask how long the intense feeling of it being real lasted. But he didn't dare tell. That much was obvious. If he had to he could ask Bashir for help, but he'd rather suffer than do that.

He could not forget the image of Bashir standing there, clad in that black uniform, just waiting for him to wake. He would always wonder when they'd come for him again.

Bashir knew about that. It was worse for him. Someone had forced him to go with the people who'd kidnaped and tortured him, Sisko thought glumly. Well, Bashir had paid him back now. They were even.

He'd already made the decision. When Jake returned, he was going to take him to Bajor, and establish a home. He would still command the station until the war ended, but stay only when he had to. That part of his life was already over. It had ended when they had ...

He didn't want to remember it. It had been the ultimate proof of his loyalty, and had probably meant he came home. Bashir had said he passed. He didn't want to consider what came of those that didn't.

He picked up the picture of his son, taken just before he'd left, with his arms around his new girlfriend. The image flashed in his mind, the last image they'd given him before he passed out. There had been so much blood. He had been so still. He couldn't see the picture for the image in his head.

The com system beeped, alerting him to a message. It would attract attention if he didn't answer it.

He initiated the contact. He looked away when Ross's face filled the screen. But he caught the expression. He'd expected gloating, or something that might suggest a threat. But instead, Ross looked somber.

"I didn't want to wake you so early, but I wanted you to hear the news privately." He sounded tired and depressed, and grieved.

"I wasn't sleeping," said Sisko. He knew Ross worked with them. But he didn't know what they'd done. Obviously they didn't trust him that far.

"Ben, there was series of attacks near the badlands. A group of civilians was being evacuated. The Jem'Hadar destroyed everything. Jake was on one of those ships. Nobody survived the attack." He paused, "It would be in the morning briefing with a casualty list, but I wanted you to be notified personally before you discovered the name." He looked up at Sisko. "I'm sorry Ben. He was a very wonderful young man."

Sisko could not take it in. He remembered all the blood, how still he'd been. He could see it so clearly. It would always be the last sight of his son. "Thank you," he said.

As Ross disappeared, he patched an audio only message to Kira. "I don't think I can come in today. You'll see why. I would like to be left alone."

Within hours, everybody had heard. But Garak knew there was more to it than that. Sisko wasn't given to withdrawing. Bashir had looked terrible, as if he'd had no sleep. The haunted look in his eyes was worse. Garak was sure something had happened. The plan had worked. All that remained was for the last few pieces to drop and spring the trap. Garak wished he could check, but that would be too dangerous. One of the dominos was falling and would take the rest with it.

But Garak planned to be elsewhere when that happened. He was leaving his shop and all the padds behind. He had already arraigned his escape. All that was needed was his signal.

The shop had been deserted most of the morning, but he heard a little chime to indicate a customer. Reluctantly, he went to the front.

He knew who the man was with at first glance. But there was more than the drab clothes. He was not just a messanger. He usually sent them. "Well, Mr. Garak. I finally get to meet you. I'd like to order a suit. You'll deliver it in a few days, we'll tell you when. Here are the specifications." He handed Garak a padd, and Garak looked it over. It was nothing more than a pattern and measurements.

"That should be possible," said Garak.

"Make sure of it," said the man, and Garak understood there was no room for negotiation. His visitor walked around the room, looking at the clothes. "I've been told you are a fine tailor. I like your work. We'll have to see what else you're good at." The man smiled. The smile reminded Garak of Tain.

"Would you care to look at anything else?" asked Garak, with just a hint of nerves in his voice.

"No, they'll be plenty of time for that." The voice was so pleasant. Tain could be that way if he wanted to. Abruptly it hardened. "About your travel plans. You should reconsider. Captain Sisko's son was lost yesterday from a Jem'Hadar attack. I can assure you that ship you leave the station on will meet much the same fate. I would keep this in mind."

Garak watched him walk out of the shop. It wouldn't matter if they knew where he was going. They could still take him. He would be staying longer than he planned.

o0o

Kira had seen the name as soon as she looked at the list. It was alphabetical, and remembering the tone of Sisko's message, she had looked at it immediately. But she hadn't expected it to be Jake. The tall young man had grown up on the station, and was well liked. Sisko worried about his son, checking on his destination before he left. Jake had patiently put up with it.

He wasn't supposed to be near the badlands. He must have been re-assigned before he got home. It had come as a surprise.

She could not believe it. It was easier to accept death when it was near and visible. As hard as Jadzia's passing had been, there had been closure. They had been lucky. The small group that Sisko had adopted as family had survived in-tack for a long time. They had mourned together. They had said good bye.

It had been harder with Worf, before his last minute rescue by a passing ship. His escape pod might never have been found. He might have died a slow death in the tiny tomb, or been picked up by the enemy. There was little evidence of prisoners being taken. It had given all of them a feeling of lingering doubt, most of all Ezri. She had come close to taking a runabout and looking for him herself, but security had stopped her. Miles had verbally wondered if she ever forgave herself for not succeeding.

But it would be different with Jake Sisko. Worf had been a soldier. He might have vanished during many other missions. Jake had gone away one day and would never come back. There was nothing, not even a body. The chances he was alive were so small they didn't really count, but she knew that Sisko would always wonder.

She knew about that kind of death. The Cardassians had taken people out in the fields or along the roads. They simply never came home. What became of them was usually never known. It made it harder to grieve, even if death was a reasonable assumption. In this war, it was too common a way to die. People in the Federation were learning how to live with the lingering uncertainty.

It was reasonable that Sisko would have allowed himself private grief over the death of his son. But something else was wrong. She knew him too well. Solitude was not the way he dealt with pain. He pushed himself harder. That evening, after she was done with most of the day's work, she paid him a quiet visit.

She didn't know if he'd let her in. But he opened his door at her ring.

She walked in, not knowing what to expect. He had Jake's pictures sitting together, and copies of his writing sorted in a stack. But he was just sitting, staring out the window.

"I was going to ask you to come by," he said, his voice halting. "I just couldn't ... "

She came closer, and tentatively sat down. "I have no idea what it feels like to lose a son," she said. "But I know how hard it is when someone you care about just disappears, when you never have a chance to say good bye. If there is anything I can do," she said.

"You don't understand," he said, his voice without any inflection. "I saw him die. I'll always see him die that way. I made him die."

Kira said quietly. "The Jem'Hadar killed him. You didn't put him there."

"No, but someone did." He paused, motioning her closer. He took her hand, looking her in the eyes. "I have to tell someone. But you can't say anything. Do you understand?"

She was shaken by the eyes, dull and stunned, seeing things she could not. She had seen that look before, in those liberated from the Cardassians. "I understand," she said.

"You can tell no one," he insisted again.

"I'll keep it to myself," she said.

Staring out the window, his hands shaking as he talked, Sisko told her of a disjointed nightmare, with a different outcome to the war, where Jake had become a pawn between the Dominion, Sisko, and a Vorta who wanted answers. He had kept silent, and Jake had paid the price. He had awakened, dizzy and disoriented, later to discover that he'd only been gone a short while. But he did remember one thing quite clearly. Bashir had been there.

"What are you going to do about it?" she asked, shaken. She meant Bashir, but Sisko had no interest in that.

"I have composed a message to Starfleet," he said, and gave her a padd. She read it twice.

"Have you transmitted this?" she asked.

"In the morning. I just want some time for myself right now," he said.

"What about Bashir?" she asked.

"There is nothing I can do. I was warned not to say anything. There are others that matter to me too. I don't want to lose all of them."

"You can't let him walk around here, after he's been a part of that ... " she paused, trying to think of an adequate description.

His voice was no longer flat. He actively insisted she keep out of it. "No, I can't do anything, and you won't either. I need your promise."

She sighed. It didn't sound right, but she knew he'd keep insisting. "I won't say anything," she said.

"You'll be in command," he said abruptly. "I want you to be prepared."

"I'm sure I can do it," she said, not certain what he meant.

"You'll have to deal with Starfleet. Keep an eye on Ross. He isn't to be trusted."

"Does he know?" she asked.

"No, they don't trust him that far. But he has unsavory friends." He shifted around in the chair. "Beware of them. They did this to me. Bashir watched for them."

She remembered the meeting, after Bashir had been kidnaped by a secret organization that was a part of Starfleet itself. Sisko had pushed him into joining as a spy. "Are these the same people who kidnaped Bashir a few years ago?"

"Yes," he said. "They wanted him, and they found a way to make him theirs." She heard regret and resignation. "Do what I should have done then. Let him make his own decisions. Just leave him alone."

She was still angry at Bashir, still found his actions unthinkable for the man she'd known. But she understood. For Sisko it was done. He just wanted to leave where he might find some peace. "What will you do?" she asked.

"Oh, I'm sure they can find something for the Emissary to do."

"All Bajor will welcome you," she said.

"I hope not. I think I'd just like some privacy right now," he said.

Kira felt a little better. It would be hard, but he'd get over losing Jake. He'd learn to live with the torment he'd been subject to. Benjamin Sisko was no longer lost and alone. He was going home.

o0o

He had not seen Sisko except for an occasional glance since the fateful night. He knew too much about Sloan's "tests" and didn't want to know what the details had been. He'd seen what it had done to Sisko. But he had passed. Sloan would never have sent him back if he hadn't.

But that morning there was a note from Sisko, asking him to come to his quarters. Bashir was curious, and wary of Sisko's belligerence. But he found something much different.

Sisko said, "Come in, Doctor," when he rang the bell. Bashir was suddenly worried for the man. The last time he'd heard anything like the defeated tone was after Jadzia's death. He stepped in cautiously, and found Sisko packing. He was in civilian clothes. Before he could say anything, Sisko said quietly, "You'll be the first to know. I transmitted my resignation from Starfleet this morning. It was accepted."

Bashir said carefully, "It's an important time for Bajor. I thought you'd be staying."

Sisko continued packing. "I am. On Bajor."

Somehow, Bashir realized, Sloan's plans had backfired. He hadn't been asked to discuss his reports yet. He had once made Sisko's life miserable. Now it was Sisko's turn to return the favor. "You would have more influence here," he said.

Sisko stopped his packing and walked towards Julian, silently handing him a padd. "My official notification," he said softly.

Bashir read the short report. "My sincere condolences, Sir," he said quietly. Jake Sisko and seven others had disappeared while on a small shuttle. The debris in the area matched the ship. It was assumed that all on board had been killed. Survivors might have been captured, but none were likely given the state of the wreckage. He handed the padd back to Sisko, his face a mask of nothingness.

Sisko put it with a small pile of personal items. Then he turned and looked at Julian. "I just want you to know the sort of people you work for," he said bitterly. "I had to watch my son die in that-game of his. But I was warned to watch what I said and did. I agreed, so I would be allowed to leave. But," he said, pausing, staring at Bashir, "I have given it much thought. Jake is dead because of that man. It was a warning."

Bashir didn't react, at least outwardly. Sloan would have done that, but not when Sisko was behaving. Sisko couldn't disappear, but he could be punished. But they would wait until there was a good reason. "Jake's death wasn't planned. You're proving to Sloan that he was right if you leave."

"I don't believe you. You were tapping my personal logs. I have no reason to trust anything you say." Sisko was too defensive, too bitter to be lying. Bashir told himself that Sisko was wrong, that he had not become the man Sisko described.

"Believe as you will, then," he said, uninterested in an argument.

"I intend to keep Bajor away from the Federation. I've always believed it would be best to join, but I didn't know what lies we were taught to believe then," said Sisko, his tone flat and determined. "I will not be a part of anything which condones the sort of crimes your people commit. That includes the Federation and Starfleet." There was anger in his tone. "I think this conversation has ended."

Bashir nodded. "There is nothing else to say."

o0o

Garak had made the suit. Starfleet intelligence brought him more padds, and he decoded them. The others had asked nothing of him. He looked at the suit, each morning, as he came to his shop. Bashir had retreated into himself, barely speaking to anyone aside from work. But he was nervous. Garak was most reluctant to admit he understood.

He had not given up the idea of leaving. But the man he'd made arraignments with had mysteriously met with an accident. Garak was sure any others would have the same fate. His nightmare had returned as well, except now the executioner was faceless, just like the men who ordered the suits.

One sleepless night he considered his options. He'd ruled out running away. It would just make things worse. And he had no real objections to their kind of work. He'd done it all before. It was another of his best talents.

It was the reminder of his past that hurt. Tain had exiled his own son as a punishment for betrayal. The Order could no longer trust him. *They* would not trust him either. He saw no reason for their interest except as a someone expendable, to be manipulated at will.

Perhaps, he thought. He still believed they had seriously underestimated Elim Garak. It might prove to be most challenging.

He was almost looking forward to the suit being delivered.

o0o

Sisko's resignation had come as a great shock. The Bajorans reflected a variety of views, from dismay to a rather smug attitude. A special meeting had been called for all Starfleet officers on how to deal with the subject. They were not to make things worse. Bashir was hardly listening. Command of the station now passed to Kira, and she was clearly in Sisko's camp. From the looks he'd gotten from her he assumed Sisko had explained more than the public reasons. She had not been at the meeting. No Bajorans had been invited.

But he had to talk to Sisko one last time. Sloan would be pulling him out soon, he assumed. Sloan still needed to discuss his reports, and he doubted he'd ever see Sisko again after that. He could not let it remain so unresolved.

Sisko's door was open, and he was talking to Kira. Both looked up as he stood by the door. Kira shot him a look of pure venom. "I think you should leave," she said.

"I just wanted a private conversation," he said. He tried to sound calm and reasonable. He hoped the arrogance had been banished.

He realized Sisko was looking at him, grim and bitter. "It's ok, Nerys." But his tone was hard.

She nodded, and left. On the way out she gave him another look of disdain.

He stepped inside and the door closed. He just stood, letting Sisko have the opening shot. Finally, after looking Bashir over, he said, bitterly, "I'm not interested in anymore lies, Doctor."

Bashir stepped forward. It was hard to drop the mask he'd made for himself, but somehow the man had to understand. "I should have not made any judgements. It might not have changed things, but I should not have encouraged any misinterpretations." He said it quietly, leaving out unnecessary details.

"You tapped into my private logs," said Sisko coldly. "You spied on me, and probably still can." Sisko picked up a picture of Jake. "You gave me to that," he paused, walking up to Bashir, standing very close, "than murderer you work for." He stepped back, hurt and angry. "Don't try to make amends. There aren't any to be made."

Bashir kept his own feelings under control. "I checked. Jake's ship was one of seven hit in the same area. Sloan didn't have anything to do with it."

"He probably didn't," said Sisko reluctantly. "And there were twelve ships hit. Three of them survived. Two were probably captured. You should have checked a little further."

Bashir guessed Sisko knew about his enquiry. "I don't know if you can believe me, but my condolences are sincere. I liked Jake very much. I'll miss him."

Sisko was holding back his grief, and nodded. "I believe you. But it doesn't change the way I feel. Losing Jake was the last straw. But your ... superior ... made it impossible to stay."

Bashir wasn't really surprised. Sisko could not abandon Bajor and would have eventually done the same. Sloan had just speeded it up and made it an act of bitterness. He had probably made it worse with his own anger. He owed Sisko. But then, Sisko owed him too.

"You aren't innocent either," he said. Sisko watched, warily. "You gave me to Sloan."

Sisko turned his head away. Bashir wondered what sort of stress readings he'd get out of this conversation. Finally the former Captain turned towards him with a haunted look. He spoke a little above a whisper. "I had much on my mind then. I never considered ... "

Bashir moved closer. "No, you didn't," he said bitterly. "Sloan used what amounted to torture before. You expected him to just smile when I said I'd work for him." His own voice was shaking, the anger spilling out. "I had to prove myself, and if I hadn't he'd have let me die. After that there was no longer any choice. But you already knew the sort of man he was when you gave that order."

Sisko tried to turn away, but Bashir moved with him. He finally spoke, slowly, sadly. "If you had refused Sloan what would have happened?" His voice was very quiet, and so tired.

Bashir said, calmly, "He would have tried again. Perhaps he would have found some way of making my life miserable enough he'd be acceptable. But I would never have accepted, at least not that easily, if I hadn't been ordered to." He took a deep breath and let it out. "What would have happened in the end? Perhaps the same, but we'll never know. Not now ... I'd have liked to think I tried to refuse him at least."

The anger was spent. Sisko looked exhausted, and Bashir had finally said what he had wished. Sisko sat in the closest chair. "I meant what I said. I won't remain in service to a government who sanctions people like Sloan. I'd hate to have to include you in that."

"And what do you expect me to do now?" ask Bashir, feeling very tired himself. "I can't quit. He'd kill me, probably in some very special way as an example. I hated you enough that I got used to him. I'm not the man you knew." He looked at Sisko, his voice hard. "All I have left is Sloan."

Sisko looked at him, equally cold. "And I have Bajor. But now it's what's left."

Bashir understood, even if he didn't want to. "I can't forgive. I hated you. It was so intense I lost myself. I can't forget that, what you took from me."

Sisko looked away. "In his little play Jake died too. It made his real death very personal. I keep seeing that ... moment. I'll always think of it when I miss him. You can't tell me Sloan would have done that if you hadn't made sure."

Bashir wasn't sure, but it wouldn't change Sisko's mind. "I don't expect forgiveness. I'm not asking you to absolve me of anything. I just didn't want this to end in anger. We both lost our way."

Sisko nodded, "And we'll continue to pay for it. I wish you luck, Doctor. Try not to lose all you were."

Bashir nodded back. "If any of it is left," he said softly.

Sisko eyed him. "There is. A little at least. You came here tonight."

"I should go," said Bashir, suddenly uncomfortable. He'd already considered what made him go there. Perhaps a little was left. But not enough to survive long, he knew. He made his choice when he's put Sisko in the spotlight. He'd confirmed it while watching the stress readings during Sisko's mind game and keeping quiet. That had been the final betrayal of what he was. "Good bye, Sir," he said at the door.

o0o

End, Part 3, Chapter 14


	15. Part 3 Epilog

Epilog

Sisko left the next morning, taking a special shuttle. Even the Starfleet people came to see him off. Most of them, at least. Bashir had stayed away. Once he was gone Kira had come into the infirmary. She stood near the door.

"Are you ill?" he asked.

She was staring at him. "We got this an hour ago," she said, holding out a padd.

He took it from her, avoiding her look. He studied the padd. It was his transfer orders. As of that day he was transferred to a small research facility in the middle of nowhere. But he recognized the name. "When does my replacement arrive?" he asked.

"Today, Doctor," she said in an icy tone. He wondered what Sisko had told her, if he'd told her too much.

Someone came in the room, someone he recognized from Sloan's ship. Except now he was dressed in a Starfleet uniform. "I'd like to go over your cases before you go," the man said cordially. Sloan's new operative didn't hold any grudges, he realized. He wouldn't make the same sort of mistakes. "I'm Doctor Russell. I've worked where you're going. I think you'll like it."

Bashir watched as Kira stood by the door. "I presume you'll get my quarters. Why don't you bring your things?" Kira finally drifted away.

"Certainly," said Russell, though that wasn't his name. He was very personable. Bashir was sure in a few months nobody would believe he was spying on them.

Russell followed him into the room. "Impressive," he said, "I think I'll like it here." But he pulled out a small dampening device and initiated it. He looked at Bashir. "I'll need the tricorder."

Julian knew what one he meant. He handed the man the one that read Sisko. It read nothing now, because Sisko was too far away. But it would be passed on. Eventually someone would discover it had started to malfunction. By then the alterations he'd made would look like they were accidental. They'd make another, but he'd bought Sisko some extra time to make his private peace. Bajor had saved him once, and he only hoped it would again. But nothing would save Julian Bashir.

"There won't be much time to discuss more than current cases," he said, keeping up the fiction as he had to. "I suppose if something comes up on another case I'll be available to discuss it. You can find me." He suddenly realized he'd miss this place, and his patients. He hoped whatever else Russell was he was a good enough doctor.

"Not really, but we'll manage," said Russell, with a look that meant to keep quiet.

o0o

Garak was restless, unable to sleep. Sisko had already gone, and he'd watched Bashir leave earlier. Few of his friends said anything. Garak almost had, but changed his mind. Bashir was too preoccupied. But he had been revenged.

Garak was a little sorry he'd driven away his friend. But that relationship had ceased the second the doctor had decided to lead Garak into the holosuite. It was not so much that it had been a betrayal of trust, for he understood that kind of thing. But Bashir wasn't like that, not the man that had been his friend. Sisko had paid for his part in the theft, and some unknown agent with the ultimate responsibility for the disaster would pay as well. Perhaps Bashir would pay too, but the man who mattered was already gone. The ruins that were left didn't count.

He had the suit in his quarters now. He didn't like the reminder each day as he entered his shop. Nothing more had been asked of him-yet. But he knew they were patient.

He was certain they didn't know of his revenge. He would already be dead if they did.

He had no desire to go out. He looked at the book, the last one Bashir had given him, and picked it up. He ordered Kanar from the replicator, and settled down to read for a time, sipping the drink.

He didn't even notice how fast he passed out.

o0o

Garak was aware of the light, and the dizzy headache. The headache was from some sort of drug, he thought vaguely, still light headed. The dizziness was odd, unique. He couldn't explain it. But he knew he'd been taken somewhere. The light and the bed were wrong. He remained as still as he could, hoping they wouldn't notice he was conscience.

A voice he recognized cut through the illusion. "Wake up, Garak. We don't have a lot of time." His *friend* with the orders, he thought glumly. Did they know, he wondered. Was the program going to end a second too late this time?

He opened his eyes to the too bright light. The man was dressed in solid black. Bashir had dressed like that now and then, when he'd been in a bad mood. He thought he understood now. "Could you turn down the light?" he asked, trying to ignore the headache as he sat up.

"Sure," said the man cordially, and the light dimmed. "You'll feel a little dizzy. You get used to it."

'Really,' thought Garak. "More unusual technology, I see."

The headache dimmed a little. Someone came in and gave him a shot and it disappeared. "It's time for you to meet a few people." He carefully followed the man, noting the ships design. It was Starfleet, but ... different-more functional perhaps.

His host entered a security code with his palm. A door opened to reveal a very plain room with table and chair.

The man sitting at the table was wearing the suit he'd made. The man who had ordered it was sitting nearby. He kept his face calm. But deep inside he knew he'd failed. Tain had been right. He should have left them alone. The man looked up, and came forward, shaking his hand. "I've been looking forward to meeting you, Mr. Garak. If your other talents are as good as tailoring we are very lucky indeed. I'm just new here, though, so we'll have to get organized. My predecessor was, ah, transferred."

Garak realized he'd managed to revenge both of his targets. Somehow it didn't feel nearly as good as he'd hoped.

"I'm pleased with the fit," said Garak.

"Please, sit," urged the man. "We have a lot to review tonight. We have big plans for you."

Garak knew he would cooperate. He had no choice. There was little he hadn't done already, for Tain and Cardassia. His exile was over now. The Order had served Cardassia, but had kept certain things for themselves. These people were no different. He'd manage.

Perhaps some day he and Bashir would meet again. He wondered if he'd recognize the doctor anymore.

o0o

That evening Bashir boarded a small ship headed towards his new assignment. He shared a cabin with two others, and while they slept he couldn't. He remembered what had happened to those on another ship, and how Sloan had dismissed them handily.

It didn't surprise him when the transporter pulled he and his things from the cabin. But nobody missed him. It was assumed he'd gone to the medical bay when the Jem'Hadar ship fired.

o0o

Miles wandered out of the room. It was too crowded to stay, with the length of the list. But this time it was worse. Julian Bashir was one of the names, presumed killed. Miles had hoped, right up until the end, that he'd change his mind. Now it was done. Now all that was left was memories.

He hadn't had lunch, and found Ezri sitting by herself. She was staring at her food. He wondered how many of those she'd declared fit for duty had been on this Friday's list. She didn't say a word when he sat down next to her.

She was picking at her lunch, lost in her own fog. "I'm sorry," she finally said. "He was a good friend. You'll miss him."

Miles had been thinking about the last conversation he'd had with Julian, sitting alone at Vic's. Julian would never come back. But it was an excellent chance to disappear. "We had some good times," he said. "Not so many since the war. I think I'll try to remember him from before."

She was looking at the people in the room. "I don't know if I'll miss this place or not. I'm being transferred."

He sighed. He'd gotten to know her, and appreciated the friendship. Now she'd be gone too. "Good luck," he said, not quite knowing how to say good bye.

"I'll be working in a real hospital. Trauma cases, but maybe we can do a little more for them. If only we could just send them home." She sounded relieved. Perhaps someone else would have to make the decisions there about who to send back to the fighting.

"I wonder if anyone really can go home," he mumbled, thinking of Julian.

She avoided looking at him, and he remembered her shattered family. "They'll find something." She paused, and added softly, "Some of them."

He felt sorry for her. There had been a wistful look in her eyes when she said it. He didn't know how he'd cope without his family.

"I got a letter from Keiko's family, asking about the kids. I guess she won't talk about it, but they're worried. Molly said some things about what happened here. They didn't want her to come back." He wondered to himself if he shouldn't have had them stay.

"That's between you and Keiko," she said.

"I know, it's just ... " he paused, unable to put it in words. "How do I tell them about here? They've never been off Earth. I don't *want* my kids here, but we were all miserable before they came back."

"You're lucky," she said. "You can have them with you."

"Still ... " he said, looking at the others in the room, wondering how many had families they missed. He wondered who had made the best choice.

Ezri looked uncomfortable. He didn't want to impose on her. She had enough troubles of her own. "I've really got to go," she said.

"Thanks," he said, leaving it at that. He missed Julian. He had no one left to talk to. He retreated back to his job.

He had just finished one list of requests when his communicator beeped. It was Kira. "I need you in my office," she said. Her tone was official, and he worried as he went up the steps to the office that had been Sisko's.

It looked different. She had changed nothing, but the baseball was gone. Perhaps that was it. He sat in the chair before her desk. She looked tired, he thought.

She had a padd in her hand, and he took it from her reluctantly. "You have new orders," she said. "I've been informed that Starfleet is reassigning all personal with combat experience. Your new assignment is in combat support. The padd has the details."

He glanced at it, but only briefly. He'd promised Keiko he'd not leave her again. Now he had no choice. "When do I leave?" he asked quietly, wondering how to tell her.

"Tomorrow. I'm sorry about the short notice, but they just told me." She didn't like it, but couldn't do anything to stop it. "There are others, so you won't be alone."

He could be ready, but didn't want his family to be rushed home. "What about my family?" he asked.

She sighed. "I have an offer. You should be able to get occasional leave. I'll set it up where they can stay here if you want. You should be able to see them now and then."

He realized it wasn't one everyone got. Overwhelmed, and unsure of what to say, he stumbled over the words. "I'll talk it over with her."

She smiled, as a friend. "I wish I could do better," she said.

He nodded. "I'll let you know," he said. He didn't rush out the room, but he was in no hurry to tell his wife either.

o0o

Kira Nerys had spent the day before dealing with transfers. Miles had been held back, along with a new list of others, so she hadn't had to hurry on the offer over his family. But nobody knew why some had been delayed. After the recent past, she'd decided she didn't really want to know.

She was tired and wanted to rest, nestled in the quiet of Odo's arms. But that was not to be.

Ross had arrived without any notice, and wanted to see her in the ward room. The wall of names was still there. She tried not to look at it.

She didn't like him. She knew Sisko didn't trust him, with his connections to the wrong people. She still had to deal with him. She was in command of the station now. But as he dropped into a chair, the grim news written in his eyes made her forget her personal feelings.

He was exhausted, ready to collapse. "Colonel, I have some bad news. We lost the Chintaka system. It's worse than that. The Breen have a new weapon. We lost most of that fleet too. For whatever reason," he said, the bitterness evident in his voice, "they left most of the survivors alive this time. They'll be coming through here in the next few days. We'll need a full triage and immediate treatment for the worse injuries. And we may need to keep some of them here for a little while. I'm sure you can see to that."

She was stunned. It had been such a hard won victory, more meaningful to this place because they had been a part of it. "What about repair?" she asked, not wanting to think about the rest. "O'Brien is still set to be transferred and we need him."

"Transfers will be delayed for now." Ross looked up at her, feeling her out. "One of the ships lost was the Defiant. I believe most of the crew survived, but that's not official. We will replace her as soon as we can, but I can't say when."

Kira wondered what Sisko would have said. For the moment it didn't much matter what Bajor wanted. If things were as bad as they sounded there might not be a Federation to join. "I'll tell them," she said slowly.

He stood up, pushing something towards her. "One other thing," he said. "Since you are in command of this station you command Starfleet personal. So there won't be problems in the future, we are taking preventative action."

She retrieved the package. It was a Starfleet uniform. He handed her a padd. "A Starfleet Commission?" she asked.

"Special circumstances. You can resign later if you want, if there is a later." He stared bitterly at the report on the battle he'd loaded, showing the extent of the losses. While they hammered away at the area near Cardassia, they'd opened a new front which would force the Federation and allies to be even more spread thin.

She understood. Bajor and the Federation had ceased to matter for the moment. It didn't matter what uniform she wore if the Dominion won. "I don't anticipate any problems, but if this helps, I won't argue."

He sat again, hardly moving, "I'll also need quarters. My ship is ... somewhat damaged."

"If you're done I'll find you some," she said. He usually put on a good act. This time all she saw was a stunned survivor.

He nodded. "If it doesn't fit, I'm sure Garak can adjust it. But that's all for now."

o0o

He was in a dark room, so dark he couldn't even see shadows. He remembered the first hints of the transport, and the dizzy feeling it left behind. And then nothing. He had no idea if it was 'real' or their new holodeck. But he understood now. He couldn't tell. And if they wanted he could suffer just as much. Strapped down against a restraint, he could move a little, but couldn't see anything. But there was no telltale fever, and other than the restraint he hadn't been harmed. But he had failed them. Sisko had been broken as much by their deadly holo play as his son's death or dissappearence. They knew enough about him to take him on an equally terrible journey.

But it spooky with the dark and the distant echos of other prisoners. And there so much time to think. Every little detail of the disastor was there, and he could see all the mistakes. And there was nothing to fix them with. He would have to live with his mistakes. Or perhaps he would just end up dying from them. But it didn't matter. Julian Bashir had ceased to exist. If they let him live, whoever he was, the man who had believed he was so smart he could beat them had lost and was already just a memory.

What he might become was unwritten, but he shifted a little and willed the pain to dim and closed his eyes, wondering if he'd wake up or it was already over.

o0o

"Carry him," ordered the man in the new suit. Unconscious, Bashir was half-carried, half-dragged into the cell. He didn't move once he was fully inside. His companion sat on the floor, rearranging the limp body to a more comfortable position.

He said nothing as the door closed, locking them inside. Bashir was already warm, his skin showing the pink tinge of fever. Leaning against a wall, he watched as the sedative faded, and the doctor slowly stirred. He rolled himself to his side, burying his eyes under an arm. He slept, too sick to fight the nightmares.

Time went by. A handful of rations fell on the floor, dropped in through a slot. The other man retrieved them, moving slowly. He was already sick. He began unwrapping the rations while one of them had the strength. He stared at the door for a while when he was done, nibbling on one of them. He looked at the sleeping doctor.

"Wake up, Doctor," he said, his voice very tired. "We still need to discuss that misleading report."

o0o

Ross had been settled in guest quarters and most of his crew moved to other ships. Kira finally tried on the uniform. Odo watched, saying nothing. It fit rather well.

It was either an end, or a beginning. At the moment she was too tired to care. She changed, settling back in Odo's arms. Even with the exhaustion, she could not sleep. "Odo," she said, hoping he was awake.

Odo was staring at the wall. "I can't sleep either."

"I tell myself we have to believe we'll win, just like we did in the resistance. But there are an awful lot of them, and with only the Klingons ... "

"You believed then," said Odo. "You have to keep believing."

"I know." She understood. It was the only way to survive. But she could not forget the darkness and the pain that came before, and the price of survival. If it was a beginning, she feared it was the wrong one.

End, Paying the Piper, part 3


End file.
